#this is probably not going to be the real first chapter in the final manuscript

[blam-marie]

Four Liars (in space)

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If I go to sleep right now, I’ll have four hours of rest before I need to be up.

The ventilation was making that noise again. A sort of metallic VWOOMP VWOOMP VWOOMP reminiscent of one of these big helicopters that had ferried Chuck around in basic training. He remembered being sick in one of those helicopters. Good times.

Nearby, Johnson was snoring loudly. Chuck could hear him straight through his thirty-decibel noise reduction custom earplugs, as if the other man was laying right next to him and not two whole bunks away. But at least Johnson’s snoring was constant, and somewhat on a rhythm. On a good night, Chuck could almost manage to ignore it. He just had to pretend hard enough that it was just… the soothing sound of waves on the sea or something. If the sea sounded a little bit like a rusted lawnmower.

Which, you know, maybe it did! It wasn’t like Chuck had ever seen the sea in person. Any sea. Did different seas sound differently? He should ask Bee. She would probably know. Or he could even go and seek out the answer in person one day. Maybe. It was something to consider for the bucket list.

Anyway, Johnson’s snoring was fine. It was fine! A little annoying, maybe, but Chuck could handle it.

Bouchard, on the other hand, kept taking deep, irregular whistling breaths. He would stop breathing for a few seconds, then release all of his air with a short, disgusting, wet nose-cough sound that drove Chuck straight up the wall. Bouchard had the bunk right on top of his, and sometimes, he fantasized about climbing up there and smothering him with his own military-standard crappy pillow. With the noises he made at night, no one would suspect Chuck, right? They might think that Bouchard had just finally given up the ghost on his own. Well, one could hope.

Although a suspicious, night-time death in the dormitories would create a lot of paperwork and presumably Chuck would be the one who would have to deal with it, so that might not be such a good idea after all.

In the middle of the room, Evans tossed and turned, as usual. The three rows of bunk beds were barely an arm length apart, and the man was so tall that he’d once managed to actually spin 90 degrees and kick Chuck in his sleep. The only silver lining of that incident was that it had given Chuck a good reason to show up to work sleep deprived the following morning. Everyone figured that Evans’ baby skin was probably sensitive to something in the fabric of the sheets and that’s why he wiggled around so much, but command was yet to do anything about it. Past evidence suggested that they probably never would. It wasn’t like comfort was of any great importance here.

Chuck checked his watch then clenched his eyes shut in despair. The tiny glow in the dark screen indicated that it was some time past one AM, which meant that if he got to sleep right then he might still get four hours of sleep before the morning shift. Then the day crowd would rotate into the room and someone else would be using his assigned bunk for the next eight hours, followed by someone else until it was his turn again.

Maybe he should just stop thinking so hard about sleep — maybe if he thought about literally anything else, sleep would just magically come, like it seemed to do for other people. His best friend, Bee, kept telling him that she just laid down at night and closed her eyes and sleep came within five minutes for her. In his opinion, she was probably lying. There was no way that sleep just ‘came’ within five minutes. There must have been a trick. She said she just stopped thinking. Who just stops thinking? Thinking was a constant background process in the machine that he called his brain and sure, there were tricks to make that process take less energy or attention but there wasn’t a way to stop it. So either Bee was trying to describe something else (likely), or she really was programmed differently than he was (also likely). Or she just straight-up temporarily died every night (not very likely, although she would make one terrifying vampire).

 Chuck flipped his pillow to the cold side and started thinking about filling forms. That was a safe and boring topic, right? Boring was good, boring meant that his brain might slow down.

Forty excruciating minutes later, Chuck checked his watch again and almost screamed. He was still not sleeping, and now he’d reminded himself of how annoyed he was that the ventilation filters were listed on the equipment request form and not the maintenance order, even though changing them was part of the maintenance team’s duties. Which meant that every time they needed new filters they would have to ask him to edit the equipment forms for them, and then the equipment supervisor would be pissed that Chuck had messed with his files. Which Chuck wouldn’t have to do if that asshole just picked up his goddamn comm every once in a while and updated his files himself!

 Blasted ventilation. Blasted maintenance team. Blasted god damned bunker and blasted god damned cold war.

Chuck flipped his pillow again and turned to face the wall, pulling his scratchy woollen blanket up to his face. He very sternly told himself to not think about the war, because that was a sure way to stay awake for the rest of the night and he did not need that. Besides, he wasn’t worried about the war. He wasn’t!

Worrying about the war was a responsibility for other people. For all the good that did, since the cold war wasn’t even about Castula. Their neighbour, The Free Radiant Empire of Elunar (F.R.E.E.), had somehow managed to piss off New Vakalos, and now the two giant powers were threatening each other with world-destroying weapons. What did that have to do with Castula? Chuck didn’t know, but somehow by virtue of being allied with FREE, they were now also in danger of dying via rocket to the face. It was kind of unfair. Still, not exactly a problem that he, specifically, could do anything about. And he didn’t like worrying about stuff that he had no impact on.

His problems were more in the range of filling badly designed forms about ventilation filters. He had suggested a change to the forms, but everything took months to be processed around here, and also no one was very inclined to listen to a lone sergeant that looked like death warmed over. Chuck knew that it would considerably help his career if he was less sleep-deprived, but that wouldn’t happen as long as he had to sleep in a bunker dorm room with five other soldiers that snored, farted, and / or had undiagnosed sleep apnea.

Chuck glared at the bottom of Bouchard’s bunk as the seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. The ventilation clanged again. That was new.

When he had first seen this bunk room, it had seemed to him like a silent tomb. Eighty feet underground, on the lowest floor of a state-of-the-art military facility, it was a room about the same size as his grandmother’s bathroom in which someone had shoved enough beds for six people. The walls felt heavy, the ceiling was low, and it was pretty much impossible to forget all of the tens of thousands of pounds of rock, steel and concrete sitting right on top of his head. Back then, the ventilation had run smoothly, and the corridors were still empty of the beehive of human activity that their sheer size promised. The bunk room was enclosed in a perfectly claustrophobic silence that promised an equal chance of the best sleep of his life or a panic attack.

But then Bouchard, his future personal nemesis, had poked his head into the room behind him. Upon seeing the poster on the wall warning them about “enemy agents subverting them via sexual promiscuity”, he’d let out a noise between a snort and a braying laugh. Chuck had not known peace since.

He’d tried everything. Meditation. Reiki. Over-the-counter sleeping aids. What had come the closer to working was Johnson’s grandmother’s “sleepytime tea”, but while it made Chuck’s body immensely tired and relaxed, his brain still felt like it was hooked up to a car battery. The contrast between a dead-tired body and an overly active mind made for a profoundly unpleasant experience. The obvious next step should have been professional sleeping aids, but the bunker’s heartless on-site doctor refused to prescribe them to him, on the pretext that Chuck might get addicted. Figured. You get one measly footnote on your medical file about a history of substance abuse — not even his own, mind you! A relative getting too enthusiastic about self-medicating their chronic pain, which as far as he was concerned seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do! — and suddenly nobody wanted to prescribe anyone anything for the next three to four generations.

It was all such bull. Getting a bit too reliant on sleeping aids still seemed like a much better solution than hitting his head with a baseball bat just so his brain would stop, which he was four seconds away from doing, but alas. As long as the insomnia didn’t impact his performance, the higher-ups didn’t see it as a problem. And Chuck was too much of a professional to let it impact his performance, so it seemed that he was trapped in a hell of his own making for at least the foreseeable future.

Nearby, one of the sleeping soldiers mumbled something and turned over. Chuck checked his watch. If he fell asleep now, he would get three hours of rest. He could function on three hours, right?

#four liars in space #writing #writing is hard #stories on tapas #scifi romcom #funny scifi romance #scifi romance #insomnia tw #this is probably not going to be the real first chapter in the final manuscript #because I realized its not the right place to start the story #Its actually a really rough chapter to read and absolutely nothing interesting happens in it lol #im probably gonna actually start with the next chapter or even the one after that and just sort of sprinkle in the backstory I need #to fill in the details #but right now its the first chapter on tapas and it has a lot of views so im leaving it up #eventually I will pull the story down from the website to edit and then publish #and it will get polished really really nice at that moment #to be the best possible story it can be

[squarebracket-trickster]

Author Ask Tag Game

A huge SORRY and thank you to @mjparkerwriting for tagging me in this waaaaay back in August (what the heck - how did this happen haha).

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

That sometimes being a strong, independent woman isn't enough. Sometimes we can't succeed alone or even with the help of loyal friends. Sometimes it really does take structural, systemic change and that change doesn't happen in a single life time.

As for why I chose this theme... I didn't really. I started with a premise (princess runs away from arranged marriage and accidentally falls in love with guy she was betrothed to). When I turned that premise into a plot with stakes I decided to have something that pressured the protagonist to go back to her marriage. The thing I chose was needing to prevent a war. The theme just kind of emerged from the tension between her saving her people and not being trapped in a marriage she didn't want.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

Southern England (loosely) in 1333 AD and some other cultures that would have been in contact with, bordering, or having diaspora in England (Wales, France, Breton, Al Andalusia, Persia, Byzantine Empire, Jewish diaspora, and like one thing from Scotland).

Other inspirations include a few Shakespeare comedies, how Tolkien uses English speech patterns to indicate social class, the Robin Hood myth, and Tennyson's poem "The Splendour Falls".

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

Draft 2 had 15 chapters averaging between 3000-5000 words. I've already broken up one of those chapters in draft 3 and will probably break up more. So, at least 16? But I might split them all in half if I decide they are too many pages when I finally change the page size of my manuscript from standard word doc to book-sized. So maybe around 30?

6. When and why did you start writing?

The immersive daydreamer who loves to read to fandom to CinemaSins to film and tv show critique YouTube to writing advice YouTube to I'm gonna write my daydreams down so I can reread them for fun to I want to try my hand at a properly structured novel (but it's just for me) to dammit, I've put so much work in I want to polish this and publish it one day Pipeline is very, very real.

7. Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers on Tumblr do you follow?

You can edit a bad draft. It is so much easier to fix something than to make something from scratch. Your first draft is not an adequate reflection of your abilities as a writer - neither is your second, neither is your third. Asking for help is a skill, rewriting is a skill, workshopping is a skill, googling writing advice is a skill, taking a break is a skill. Your novel isn't your best work until it's done - feedback, and breaks, and months of writer's block and all. Push through. You're not a bad writer, or a good one for that matter, until there is a finished product to judge. I know looking at an unfinished draft riddled with problems can be demoralizing but you will find those problems and you will fix them. Just be patient.

I'm gonna steal MJ's idea and tag seven of my "other writers" - seven because that's how many questions are on in tag game.

@zeenimf, @ambiguouspuzuma, @macabremoons, @lexiklecksi, @sleepyowlwrites (though you've probably been tagged 1000 times in this haha), @stesierra, @ettawritesnstudies

#tag game #wipvii

[mareebrittenford]

This Writing Advice is (conditionally) Wrong

Here’s a little rant about something I disagree with.

Don’t Go Back or Edit in the First Draft

It’s a writing rule I hear so much that I’d swear that your document self destructs if you dare to take a peek at chapter 3 when you’re already on chapter 4.

I’ve never agreed with this idea, and generally ignored it, but today I suddenly realized why.

I started writing a fic yesterday. I wrote about 1k and then felt like it sucked and I didn't want to write anything any more.

I talked to a friend about what I was writing, (which is half the fun of writing fic ngl) and I realized cultural miscommunication was really what I wanted to ‘talk about’ in this fic.

This morning I went back and added in little bits and pieces that filled in that new understanding of the story I'm telling. It added about 250 words. And then I felt good about the whole story again and started writing forwards. this is by no means unusual for me. It’s so normal that it’s part of my process. But today I started to think about why I can’t just make a note and keep going which is the standard advice.

The thing is that what I’m normally doing is adding nuance. And no notes can fully contain the nuance of my intent. The only way to get my thoughts down is to write them out in full.

So. Following the standard advice is essentially asking me to hold it all in my head for later.

I have ADHD. You know the thing that I have the single biggest difficulty doing?

Holding stuff in my head.

My memory for things I need to do is horrendous. And trying to remember that moment I wanted to add to a story from a note that I wrote months, or even in the case of this little piece of fic, days ago? Impossible. I can’t do it. It’s crippling. And for what?  Why should I contort myself to conform to this rule anyway? What’s the goal?

Which is where we come to the caveats. Most people follow this rule because 1) they don’t want to break their flow when drafting, or 2) they’re dealing with potentially crippling perfectionism.

Now as far as breaking your flow, I disagree. It’s not as if anyone writes a first draft in one single stretch of perfect flow. Even an extremely fast draft of a novel takes several weeks. More commonly, the drafting time spans several months. No flow state lasts that long. Personally I find my personal process of beginning each writing session by reviewing the previous days work actually improves flow. It’s like a little ritual that gets my writing brain fully engaged and ready to go.

As for perfectionism, that’s a hard nut to crack. And probably the only real reason to apply this rule.

Overall, it’s just another arbitrary rule. Your final manuscript doesn’t get any gold stars for being drafted in a way that makes you suffer. It can be a helpful idea in some circumstances, but it can also be stifling. Only stick to it if it’s genuinely helpful.

Here’s my new rule.

Go back and edit in the first draft as much as you want. UNLESS! Unless you find yourself getting stuck in a loop of perfectionist editing and stop moving forward. 

#writing rules that suck #at least to me #writing rules should be writing suggestions #either way I don't like most of them

[ozma914]

Crunching Letters to Synopsis Satisfaction

 I'm continually surprised that editors and agents in the publishing industry expect novelists to write short stuff, like query letters, outlines, and synopsis ... synopsis's ... synopsi? Just a sec.

(Huh. It's synopses. Who knew?)

Asking a novelist to write short is like asking a politician to spend less money; asking the Wicked Witch to be less cackle, um, cackle-y; asking me to skip dessert. My novel manuscripts tend to be short, but that doesn't make me freak out any less when I have to reduce it to a 1,000 word synopsis. My latest manuscript is 82,000 words: It's like taking a full size pickup truck and reducing it to Matchbox size with your bare hands.

Hey, I have this one! Wouldn't want to build the real thing from scratch.

Now imagine someone trying to write a synopsis for one of George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire books, which are so big they're registered as lethal weapons. Seriously, even putting it on your Kindle adds two pounds. When I tried to read the newest one on the couch, I broke my hip. And the couch. Of course, no one would ask him to write a synopsis. In fact, he probably has an assistant that does nothing but write synopses ... seses ....

In theory the best way to write a synopsis is to write one paragraph for each chapter, then trim where necessary, as if it isn't going to be necessary. I tried other tactics. For instance, removing every "the"; putting into the synopsis only the third and fifteenth word of every page; and hiring George R.R. Martin's synopsis writer. None worked. (You wouldn't believe what that guy charges.)

So I looked the manuscript over again. While Martin's books are high fantasy, my newest story is apparently low fantasy, and yes, I'm aware of the possible jokes. That means it's set in our real world, but magical elements intrude into it; the best known example would probably by the Harry Potter series.

How low can you go? Well, you could have an entire school full of kids who could turn their parents into warthogs, for instance.

 My story, The Source Emerald, is about a young FBI agent on her first assignment, who tries to track down possible gem smugglers in upstate New York. Magic ... intrudes.

All I had to do is boil down her personality, the plot, the stakes, and the major supporting characters into 800-1000 words, or less than two pages. Or shorter, depending on who you ask. Oh, and in your own unique voice ... with plot twists ... and the ending ... I'm going to go lay down, now.

Okay, I'm back. Almost all authors hate writing a synopsis, and those who like it almost always turn out to be heavily addicted to something and/or certifiably insane. I don't have the exact statistics on that. All I know is that on my first whack at it, I spent half a page describing why my main character, Lilly, absolutely doesn't believe the little girl she encounters is Dorothy Gale, made famous in the Oz books. I had to reduce that to, like, four words.

"Dorothy is brunette, and a teenager, and not a princess, and it was all a dream, anyway. Stop pulling my leg--I've seen the movie."

In the final version the whole thing boiled down to: "Lilly doubts Dorothy's story."

It took me three days to come up with that sentence.

In reality I got the whole synopsis done in "just" a few days, not counting my nightmares of being chased by an editor with a sharp red pen. My first version was about 3,500 words, which really wasn't too shabby. My second was around 1,500--I was slashing words like a horror movie villain.

And then--finally--920 beautiful, short, on-point words. That's it. If you want a shorter synopsis from me, I'll just cut from the bottom and you'll never know the ending, pal! (Or lady, since most of the agents and editors I've queried have been female.)

But I did it. I'm relieved, and proud, and surprised, but mostly relieved.

Now I have to write a query letter.

Hm ... or maybe I should tackle a short story. What do you think?

Find all our books here:

http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

#writing #On writing #oz #wizard of oz #synopsis #humor #fiction writing #writing community

[quirrrky]

10. WRITE FOR YOU [FINAL] 「DENOUEMENT」

『MASTERLIST』 « PREV »

𖧵 1.2k words 𖧵 You asked your childhood best friend, Keiji, to be the editor of your romance novel that was actually…all about him. 𖧵 mutual pining, friends to lovers? unrequited love?

“The plot is great. It is also well-written. The metaphors you used somehow feels like it’s very personal, intimate.” Your professor praised your novel, something that would make you ecstatic given a different a situation.

However, handing her the manuscript was like the very last period you punctuated in a 9 long years of novel; in 9 years of your feelings for your best friend, Keiji.

You gave her a faint smile and exited her office. Walking down the hallway on your way out of the campus, you bit your lip, controlling the wave of emotions that came crashing in.

You deliberately avoided Keiji the past few weeks, using the reason that you had to focus on finishing your novel, when in fact you’re just preparing yourself for the harsh truth that he’d never see you in the way you wished he could.

The harsh truth that all of this was just a fairytale, a work of fiction and some things existed so that you could have a good story to tell.

Deeply breathing in, you forced a smile on your face. Perhaps, that was it.

Yes, that was it.

You kept telling yourself that, but the sting in your chest felt like pages being torn from a book and those pages were one of the happiest moments of your life. Moments you wished you could draw more chapters from. Moments that made you feel empty without and it hurt because his existence were written all over it.

“Y/N,” Your heart stopped.

It was him. The very first person you'd see after deciding to let him go.

Shivers ran down your spine. If you didn’t now better, you’d think that he missed you. You’d think that his eyes held a sense of longing for you in the days you had never spoken with each other.

That’s not it. It’s not that way, right?

“K-Keiji, w-what are you doing here?” Your voice half-shaking as you tried to keep all emotions at bay.

“I- uh, it has been weeks since I haven’t seen you. You also missed my birthday. I thought I could drop by during your submission, so we can get a cup of coffee together.”

“I’m going home.” You walked, attempting not to stop by his side.

“Let me walk you home.” Yet it was difficult to stop him.

The next thing you knew, you were matching his slow strides. You hated how much comfort you felt just by having his presence this close to you. It’s as if you’re all too well-acquainted with him that he felt like home and comfort in whatever setting, in whatever season. Internally, you shook your head.

You couldn’t be feeling this way!

This was foolish.

You’re a fool for thinking that someone would just suddenly have feelings for you.

You’re a fool for thinking he’d figure out what you feel and probably what he also really feels about you through a fiction.

Keiji was right. This was probably just a figment of your imagination despite how painfully real it all was for you.

You were taken out of your reverie when he stopped walking right at the playground where you first met. That day seemed like yesterday and it's a pain that you had to walk back through it again, right now.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

Tears brimmed at the edge of your eyes. He figured it out after all. Your fist clenched the strap of your bag. “You- You don’t have to be sorry, Keiji. It’s not like-“

“No, I have to. I really have to.” He turned to face you and seeing him looking so vulnerable like this made you made it even harder for you to control your tears. “Y/N, I'm really sorry. I missed the rain the last time we saw each other.”

“Huh?”

“In you novel, the male lead he…isn’t it that he kissed the female lead under the rain? I missed my chance, right?”

“Wha-What do you mean?” You couldn’t believe what you’re hearing.

Keiji took a deep breath. “You can never fall in love with someone all of a sudden, it just felt that way because you’re failing to realize what has been there all along.”

He took your hands and held them firmly. Just like how he held the cherry blossoms the very first time you two had met.

“I can’t bring back the days I missed not realizing how much you really mean to me, Y/N. Look, I…I’m not really sure if the male lead in your story was me or if it was all just my irrational judgment. I just know that it has to be me. I have to be the male lead of your life. I..”

You sobbed quite chuckling at the same time. “I thought you’re smart, Keiji. Why are you being such a dumbass?”

"What- What do you mean?" He asked.

"You held his hands firmly like they were Autumn leaves almost slipping through the gaps between your fingers. “It was you. It was you all along, dummy.”

His face fell blank for a second until he let out a teary sigh of relief, still disbelieving what he just heard and how stupid he really had been.

Without letting another chance slip, he squeezed you in his arms, burying half of his face on your shoulder. You embraced him back so tight. Both of you relishing the feeling as proof that all of this was, in fact, a reality even if it felt like a dream.

Parting a little, he cupped your cheek. “I know it isn’t raining anymore, but I hope I’m not too late.”

You just stared at his eyes as he slowly bridged the gap between your lips. He tasted like your favorite coffee, warm and sweet. His hold on you tightened as you both got lost in your deepening kiss.

Christmas lights twinkled from the different stalls lined up at the bazaar. It had been a week since you and Keiji had began dating yet it felt like a lifetime just waiting to be uncovered.

He visited your house often. By often, it was everyday as if he didn’t really want to go home anymore. Well, you didn’t want him to go home either.

“Do you feel cold?” He asked. You smiled and shook your head no, which made him sigh. “Liar.” He blew a warm breath on your clasped hands and slipped them inside the pocket of his trench coat.

You blushed. This all seemed so new yet if felt so natural like you’re both meant to be this way from the very first day you saw each other.

He took you to a quieter place somewhere in the park. You were both walking under the trees. Glancing up, you admired how magical they looked like adorned with fairylights, when Keiji held your shoulder to stop you from walking and got on his knees.

You chuckled at his habit and it was something you really adored about him. “Meh,” you teased. “Your spidey-senses are wrong this time. My shoelace is fine.”

“I know.” He pulled out a small dark blue box from his pocket.

“No way!” Your hands flew to your mouth. “Isn’t this too earl-“

“No. I’m 9 years, 10 chapters and 14,000 words too late. Let’s write the next chapters of our lives together from now on, Y/N. Will you-“

Your face was all red as you reached out your hand to him, not letting him finish the question as you gave him your answer through a nod.

“I hate you.” You told him. “You’re so corny. I haven’t even included that line in my novel.”

Keiji couldn’t control grin on his face as he slipped the ring through your finger. He stood up and planted a soft kiss on your forehead until he placed a chaste one on your lips.

Brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, he spoke softly, “We have all the time to write it together.”

A/N: sobbs I- this series is something I never really thought would succeed. First of all, it's not your friendly neighborhood smut and it's not entirely angsty as it should be. However, I'm deeply happy to have found readers who find a comforting experiencing in this. I felt really sad that I wasn't able to finish it in the time I planned it to be done, but I like to write this last chapter in the best way possible. Writing this part has restored a part of me I thought I've lost during the time I couldn't find time to write it only to discover that I would have found even more now that I finish this. I'm so glad to have found new friends and to bond with you over this short period of time. OMG WHY AM I SAD? 🤧

🍁 @bethbat @moon-mars-ikemen @bakugossanity @bakaashit @tobibam @vicolangelo @god-has-forsaken-me @avis-writeshq @putmeinyourdeathnote @queenelleee @books-music-fangirl @kozuken-ma @shimmerains @tinyegg  @van-chii @byundumb @thelovehashira143 @mystic-helena

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡ Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much!

© quirrrky 2021 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means. ✧ DAYDREAM MUSEUM ✧

#[🍁]—wfy #akaashi x reader #akaashi scenarios #akaashi x y/n #akaashi fluff #akaashi x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #akaashi imagine #akaashi keiji x reader #quirrrky keiji

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime — Epilogue // Wanda Maximoff

chapter fourteen | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad

author’s note: the final part is here! thanks again to everyone who stuck around with this fic, i really appreciate it 😊💗 now enjoy!!

The sound of a rooster crowing pulled me from my slumber and I groaned when I realised I definitely wasn't getting back to bed anytime soon.

Quiet laughter came from beside me and I didn't have to open my eyes to know that Wanda was finding my disgruntled self entertaining.

"I said yes to the chickens," I mumbled tiredly, not opening my eyes as I stupidly thought it would let me contain my sleep for a little bit longer, "but I should have drawn the line at the rooster."

Her fingers grasped my shoulder as she rolled over to hover above me. I squinted through my tired eyes, seeing the amused smile on her lips as she looked down at me. Despite how much of a morning person I wasn't, I appreciated how beautiful she looked with bed hair and a nightie.

"Shut up," she said jokingly, and I closed my eyes again. "You love them."

I rolled my eyes beneath closed lids. "I'd love to cook them, sure."

She slapped my shoulder gently. "Don't talk about Nikolai, Vanya and Sonia like that!"

A smile ghosted my lips. The first thing she'd done when getting the damn chickens was name them the most Sokovian names she could think of – I shouldn't have expected anything less. Though, now it meant she was extremely attached to them.

"My apologies, love," I mumbled.

She hummed disapprovingly before putting her whole body weight on top of me and hugging me. I sighed contently, resting an arm around her waist and appreciating the feeling of her so close to me. I could have fallen back asleep in this position if it wasn't for Wanda's wide-awake, curious self. Why did she have to be such a morning person?

"So, what are your plans for today?" she asked, fingers scratching against my shoulder blade tenderly.

I exhaled calmly. "I'm going to attempt to fall back asleep right now... then I'll let you know afterwards when I wake up."

She didn't say anything after that, and I was stupid to believe I'd gotten away with it because she suddenly got up and straddled me, jumping up slightly and startling me awake.

"Wake up!" she ordered, too hyper for my sleepy self.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes and finally opening them to see her looking down at me with a grin, hair falling around her face. There was a hint of annoyance in my expression as I narrowed my eyes, but she ignored it as she rested her hands on my chest.

"I hate you," I muttered.

"You're up now, so let's do something," she insisted, making me roll my eyes. "We should go on a walk. It's pretty outside. The sun's rising and it'll be fun!"

The sun's rising because its bloody dawn and that damn rooster crows at the same time every day, leaving me disgruntled and annoyed.

But of course, I didn't have the energy to explain that to Wanda, so I simply shook my head and closed my eyes. "Maybe tomorrow, Wanda."

She suddenly leaned down, jolting me slightly and making me open my eyes. She was inches away from my face as she pouted.

"Not tomorrow, now!" she exclaimed loudly, before leaning forward and peppering kisses all over my face.

I sighed, keeping her stable by resting a hand on her waist, but not appreciating the fact that falling asleep would definitely be a challenge now.

"I love you, Wanda, but please keep it down," I said quietly, still not used to her energy so early in the morning.

"Tell me what I can do to wake you up," she said sternly, stopping kissing me and sitting upright again.

"Absolutely nothing, love."

"Oh? Nothing?"

I hummed and closed my eyes again, getting used to her weight on top of me and deciding I could probably fall back asleep if she was quiet long enough. Wishful thinking, of course.

Her fingers found mine and she slowly lifted my hand, putting it underneath her dress and on her thigh. I knew what she was doing – it was cute – but it wouldn't work.

Not even bothering to open my eyes, I said, "Wanda, darling, we've been together for three years. I am able to resist your charm, believe it or not."

"Really?" she asked challengingly, letting go of my hand and resting hers on my shoulders. "I don't believe you."

Before I could counter her with a response, she leaned down and began nibbling on my ear softly. It was a sensation I was familiar with, but I refused to let her get her way, so I ignored her stubbornly. She knew me too well though, as she let go of my ear and trailed kisses down my neck before sucking on the skin sensually. Admittedly, I was a lot more awake then I was thirty seconds ago, definitely aroused by the gorgeous woman on top of me, but she couldn't win this. Not when she was playing very unfairly.

"Wanda," I said with a warning tone, squeezing her thigh and signalling for her to stop.

I should have figured that would provoke her even more, as she manoeuvred herself so her knee was now pressing between my legs. I'm ashamed to admit that I gasped into her shoulder at the sudden pressure, and judging from the quiet laugh she let out, she was very much aware of the effect she had on me.

"I told you you couldn't resist," she said knowingly, raising her head from my neck so she could meet my eyes.

Hers were darkened with pleasure and mischievousness, darting to my lips. I glared at her.

"I really hate you."

She shook her head, tongue wetting her lips, as a playful smirk stared down at me. "No you don't. Now lose the nightdress, moya lyubov' (my love)."

I tried to retort, but she closed the gap between us, lips capturing mine in a heated kiss. I definitely didn't mind being woken up like this...

—

After actually getting out of bed, I reluctantly agreed to go on a walk with Wanda, strolling around our premises and making the most of the countryside we lived in. As much as I didn't want to admit, I was glad she'd dragged me outside, since the morning stroll only made me appreciate our home more.

When we returned, Wanda went to her studio whilst I made us some tea in the kitchen, hoping to warm us up after the slight chill in the Autumn air. I joined her soon enough, smiling when I saw how involved she was with her work in no time. The studio was big enough for her to make a mess and it not seem so messy since it was spacious enough. I shouldn't have expected any different – Wanda couldn't tidy up to save her life.

"One day I'm going trip over your things," I announced as I stepped over some loose materials by the door, teacup and saucer in hand.

She chuckled, though her attention was still on her painting. "When that day finally comes, I'll clean up. Promise."

"Of course," I muttered sarcastically.

I stopped behind her and studied the painting she was working on. It was a close-up of a flower bed, with intricate details being put in the flowers themselves and ladybirds flying around. Wanda sensed my presence and accepted the tea from my hand, smiling at me gratefully before blowing on it to cool it down.

"Is this that commission you got last week?" I asked curiously.

She nodded, unaware of the paint streaks on her face. I rested a hand on her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling at how adorable she was.

"The guy is paying double for me to put twelve ladybirds in the painting," she explained with amusement. "He wants to be able to count every single one."

I snorted with laughter. "Wow. That's very strange."

She shrugged, though I knew she was thinking the same. "A commission's a commission... is it evil if I only put eleven in?"

I laughed, nodding. She glanced up at me with a bright smile on her lips.

"It's very evil," I told her, before squeezing her shoulder.

She grabbed my hand on her shoulder, holding it comfortingly. "D'you want to do some gardening later?"

"Sure. I've just gotta do some work on my manuscript first. The writer's block is real."

"Of course," she said, giving me a knowing look. "Best-selling authors don't just become best-selling authors without putting in the work."

I rolled my eyes at her comment, but a smile played on my lips. "I'm leaving now."

She chuckled and I pressed a kiss to her cheek, trying not to get paint on my lips.

"Good luck with the writing," she said as I began to leave.

"And you with the painting," I called back.

Today was nothing special – probably a regular day when it came to Wanda and I's lives – but it made me smile. If the past three years had taught me anything, it was to be grateful for the mundane.

After Wanda broke things off with Y/B/N, it took a while for both of our families to recuperate. In their eyes, Y/B/N had broken things off because he wasn't interested in Wanda anymore, hence our parents' reaction. And Wanda's parents were upset because they believed it was her fault that Y/B/N wasn't interested, hence their reaction.

Our relationship with the Maximoffs was inescapable though, since Y/B/N and I were authors of theirs, so we had to mend what was broken. The only person who knew the truth about Wanda breaking it off with Y/B/N, apart from me and him, was Pietro. He didn't know why, but he knew that it was Wanda's choice.

After things calmed down between our families and everybody's anger had faded, around about the time that my second book was released, I'd saved enough money from the sales to buy a place of my own. With my father's help, I was able to buy a cottage in the countryside – the perfect place for privacy and to do my writing.

It was surprising that I got help from my dad, since I half expected him to be against the idea. But he was so proud of me for achieving all I had that he was happy to help. So, I got my own place and the first thing I did was invite Wanda to live with me. Nobody really saw it as more than two friends living together, especially since Wanda had started selling her paintings under a male pseudonym. Her parents were only reluctant because they wanted her to get married, but after she told them that she didn't want to and stood her ground, they left her alone.

I think they realised that they couldn't exactly stop her, and if they tried to, they'd lose their daughter in the process. So, to Wanda and I's excitement, we were moving in together...

"Are we there yet?" Wanda asked for the millionth time.

"Terpeniye (patience)," I told her, and felt her smile beneath my hands that were covering her eyes.

"Nice pronunciation," she commented, and I couldn't tell if she was teasing or not.

We finally stopped before the cottage and I was buzzing with excitement. I'd chosen it with Wanda in mind, a surprise for her, since I knew she'd only ever wanted to live in a place like this. What better way to give her that then now with me?

"Okay, this is it," I announced, removing my hands from her face.

I stepped beside her, leaning forward to see her reaction. She was raising her eyebrows with surprise, taking in the appearance of the front of the cottage. It was in a lovely field with tall trees and colourful flowers surrounding it. Vines had overgrown the bricks, but it looked stunning and I hoped Wanda would think the same.

Her lips curved upwards into a grin of disbelief. "This is it? This is ours?"

I pulled the key from my pocket and held it out towards her. "It is. All ours."

She laughed wholeheartedly, jumping up with excitement before grabbing the key and pulling me into a hug. I laughed alongside her, returning the hug, before pressing a kiss to her cheek and motioning to the door.

"Do the honours and I'll show you around," I told her with a smile.

She was practically beaming as she moved to the door, opening it. Her excitement only intensified when she saw the living-room it extended into, a large fireplace in the centre of the back wall and the furniture already in place.

"We can change the décor," I told her as I showed her around. "This came with the place, but we can change it up to however we want."

"I love it."

I intertwined our fingers, admiring the sparkle of delight in her blue eyes as she looked around the place eagerly. That was the look that made this whole thing worth it.

"You've not even see the best bit," I said, before tugging her into the hallway. "There's a kitchen and our bedroom and of course, a study for me, but this is the bit I know you'll love."

She watched with curiosity but allowed me to skip the other rooms and show her the room that I envisioned as her art studio. It was a spacious room, filled with random, old furniture from the previous owners, but I ignored it and stepped further inside, facing Wanda.

"This can be your studio!" I exclaimed, motioning around me. "Look, here can be where your desk can be." I pointed to the left wall, the space in front of it. "You can get some shelves put here for your supplies. And here–" I pointed to the space before the window at the back, "–is where you can paint on your easels. The natural light will be perfect!"

She followed my every move, hanging onto my every word, and nodded along with a joyful expression.

"I can't believe you've already thought about it," she admitted.

"Come here," I said, waving my hand for her to join me. She did and I wrapped an arm around her waist, stopping before the window. "You see that?"

"The perfect view," she realised, eyes wide as they took in the view of the garden, which I planned to show her next. "It's beautiful."

"You can paint everything there," I said with a nod. "The trees. The flowers. And this place isn't far from the train station, so we can take some day trips, too."

She leaned into my side gratefully. "Y/N, I love it. All of it."

My heart fluttered as she said that, it being all I wanted to hear.

"We can also get the coop for the chickens you wanted," I reminded her, before pointing out the window. "Right there. We'll get fresh eggs and they're cute – what's not to love?"

She pulled apart, arms still laced around me, and I waited to see what she thought. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight coming from the window, matching the smile on her lips. Then she moved forward quickly, kissing me hard and leaving me no chance to react before she pulled away.

"I have no words," she said softly, caressing my cheek. "I'm so grateful."

My face was warm as I smiled shyly. "I'm glad. You know I'd do anything for you."

Her smile widened as she leaned in again. "Thank you."

Moving in with her was the best thing to happen to me, and my dream of being published had come true, so that was saying a lot. We both knew we could never get married and be together in public, but this was the next best thing. We had our own little slice of heaven to merely be, and it was perfect. She could paint as much as she liked and I could write as much as I liked, the two of us making a living and not having to rely on husbands we didn't love.

The only people who knew about the truth of our relationship was Steve. I knew I could never trust my family with the truth, knowing liking women was very different to becoming a writer. So, I was content with them living in denial about why Wanda and I lived together. Wanda was the same with her parents, but it was a few months into moving in when she decided she wanted to tell Pietro.

I was obviously hesitant, since Pietro was a standup guy, the reason I was even as successful as I was, but I wasn't sure if he'd be okay with discovering his sister liked women and I was the one she was with. Wanda was certain he'd understand though, since he was her twin and would only want the best for her. Plus, according to her, he loved me, so he wouldn't have a problem with it.

He was her twin at the end of the day, and nobody knew him better than her, so I trusted her to tell him and decided we could do it at dinner, inviting both him, Steve and Peggy over. Peggy didn't know about Wanda and I either, but I wanted to tell her, so we decided to do it together...

"We've been here three times and it still makes me jealous how peaceful it is," Peggy complimented as the five of us sat around the kitchen table. "No annoying neighbours. No nosy townspeople. It's perfect."

"Thank you," Wanda said with a friendly smile. "That's why we love it, too."

"Are you all finished?" I asked, standing up to grab mine and Wanda's plates.

"Oh, please, let me help," Pietro offered, about to stand up, but I shook my head.

"It's okay, I've got it," I politely declined, before stacking the plates together to take to the sink.

I glanced at Wanda and she gave me a knowing look before clearing her throat and looking to her brother.

"Piet, can you help me with something in my studio?" she asked him casually. "There's a lightbulb I can't quite reach."

He nodded and wiped his face with his napkin. "Er, sure." He looked to everyone else. "If you'll excuse me."

The two of them left the kitchen, leaving me with Steve and Peggy. I distracted myself with putting the plates in the sink before popping the kettle on, knowing they'd want tea.

"Dinner was lovely, Y/N, thank you for tonight," Steve started, easing the tension he knew I was feeling. I'd told him my intentions before inviting them and he was completely okay with the idea. "You and Wanda seem to be more and more comfortable every time we come here."

I leaned against the counter as I smiled gratefully at him, knowing he was giving me an opening to tell Peggy the truth.

"Yeah, we are," I said, eyes flickering to Peggy's as she watched on with interest. "We, er..."

My mouth went dry as the words I'd practiced in the mirror this morning escaped me. I'd only ever told Steve about Wanda and I, and that was by accident. I knew Peggy wouldn't judge me, but it was still terrifying to admit.

"Y/N, sweetie, are you okay?" Peggy asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, sorry..." I just had to say it. No more overthinking. "Wanda and I are together. As more than more friends. I'm in love with her."

Peggy raised her brows with surprise, barely believing it, but then she glanced at Steve and knew I was being serious. I let out a breath of relief, glad that I'd finally said it.

She stood up from her seat and I was half-afraid she'd leave altogether, but she didn't. She walked to me and pulled me in for a hug, squeezing me gently.

"Thank you for trusting me with such an important thing," she said, pulling away and smiling at me gently. "I guess it makes sense. You both compliment each other well and make each other happy. It's beautiful to see."

"Thank you," I said, returning her smile. "That means a lot coming from you."

She nodded and glanced at her husband. "I take it Steve already knew."

He raised his hands in defence. "Hey, I basically figured it out myself!"

She rolled her eyes playfully and I couldn't help but laugh.

"He did," I backed him up. "And he was the only person to know, so I owe him a lot. He gave me the support I wanted when I had nobody else."

Peggy smiled endearingly at Steve before looking to me with kind eyes. "Well, now you're not alone. You have me, too."

"I know. I'm glad."

"Does anybody else know? Or is it just Steve and I?" she asked hesitantly.

"Just you two," I explained. "My family would never understand. Especially with Wanda and her history with my brother. Same with her family. But she's actually telling Pietro about us now. I can only hope he'll take it well."

Peggy was certain as she said, "I'm sure he will."

I made tea for all of us and joined Peggy and Steve at the table as we waited for the Maximoff twins' return. Eventually, Wanda returned with her brother in tow and judging by the smile on her face, I could only hope it went well. Though I noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks and joined her side with mild concern.

"Are you okay?" I asked, grabbing her hand, but I didn't get chance to hear a response as I felt myself being lifted off the ground.

"Y/N!" Pietro exclaimed in my ear, hugging me from behind. "Welcome to the family, sestra (sister)!"

He set me down and stepped beside his sister, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her close. A grin was directed my way as Wanda's cheeks dusted pink. She was glowing with happiness, her brother's opinion mattering the most, and it warmed my heart to witness.

"I see things went well," I noticed, before smiling at Pietro. "Thank you, Pietro. It means a lot to have your support. Though you know this doesn't make me your sister, right?"

"Yet," he pointed out, making me sigh. "You know, I always suspected you had the hots for my sister, but I could never be sure."

Now it was my turn to flush with embarrassment, especially when Steve and Peggy laughed from the sidelines.

"Wanda's happiness is all that matters to me," he continued, looking to his sister with a genuine smile. "I'm glad she picked the right Y/L/N."

I chuckled awkwardly, eyes falling to a nervous Wanda. "Me and you both, mate." He laughed, patting me on the back, and I gave him an appreciative nod. "Seriously, though, thank you, Pietro. Your approval means a lot."

"No problem," he said with a shrug. "I'm always here if you need me."

"As are we," Peggy added, before looking to Wanda. "Both of you. Anything you need, ever, just let us know. It's what we're here for."

"Thank you," Wanda said for both of us, and when she looked my way, I knew she was thinking the same thing I was.

We were lucky that the most important people in our lives knew the truth about us and were supportive. We couldn't have asked for anything more.

—

As promised, after spending the morning on my manuscript and Wanda with her commission, we went into the garden to do some gardening. And by we, I meant I was doing it as she attempted to help out beside me.

"Hey, I think there's something stuck here," Wanda said, fingers stuck in a pot of soil.

"Then pull it out," I said like it was obvious, trying not to laugh.

I continued to rake the plant beds before me so I could eventually plant some vegetable seeds when Wanda's adamant voice spoke up again.

"I think you should check it out, Y/N, I can't seem to get it."

"Wanda..."

"Come on!" she insisted, and I sighed dramatically before dropping my rake and heading towards her.

Kneeling down beside her, I took a peek in the plant pot and put my hand in, rooting around until my fingers found something metal.

"It seems to be a ring," I realised, pulling it out and dusting the soil off it. "Maybe the suppliers of the soil dropped it in accidentally. Or maybe a bird dropped it in the pot without you realising..." I chewed on my lip with thought. "Huh. Well, here you go."

I gave it back to Wanda and prepared myself to stand back up, but Wanda groaned and facepalmed.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" I asked with an amused smile.

She looked up at me through parted fingers. "It's my ring."

"How many times have I told you to stop wearing rings when we're gardening?!" I said questioningly, shaking my head. "Stuff like this always happens!"

She rolled her eyes and looked up to the sky. "Why am I in love with an idiot?"

"Wanda–"

"It's for you," she said, holding out the ring.

I furrowed my brows. "Well, why didn't you just– wait." My eyes widened as I realised what she was implying, feeling stupid for not realising sooner. "Is this– are you– huh?"

Wanda swallowed nervously before clutching the ring tightly and meeting my gaze. "I've been in love with you for a long time, you know that," she said softly, her accent thick with emotion. "The time we've spent here in our little safe haven has been the best of my life. And I... I know we live in a world that won't let us be together. But that hasn't stopped us."

My heart was hammering in my chest as Wanda offered me a small, nervous smile. We'd never talked about marriage since we were so content in our little bubble, but clearly she'd thought about it without me knowing. I guess I had, too. But I never expected either of us to do anything about it.

"I know we can never really be married, but what is marriage if not a union between two people who are in love anyway? I mean, we basically already have that." She snickered to ease her nerves, then licked her lips shakily, eyes tearing up. "I'm asking you to marry me and if you say yes, I'll know you're my wife and that's all that'll matter... so Y/N Y/L/N. Will you marry me?"

I didn't even need to think about it. Wanda was the love of my life and just like she'd said, the past three years had been the best. We could never truly be married in the eyes of the world, but she'd be my wife and that would be enough. She'd always be enough.

"Of course I will, Wanda," I answered, tears of happiness slipping from my eyes.

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes? You said yes?"

I laughed, nodding, and leaned forward to kiss her. She returned the favour, salty tears mingling between our lips, but it didn't matter because she was going to be my wife and that's all I could think about.

Our smiles broke the kiss and I wiped her tears away with my thumb before pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Here, let me put this on you," she said between laughter, hands fumbling as she tried to find mine.

I put out my hand and let her slide the ring on my finger. It was a simple silver band with a small, elegant gemstone sat on top, perfect for someone like me who didn't like anything too flashy.

"It's beautiful, Wanda, thank you," I said, smiling through my tears.

"I've been wanting to ask you for a while, but I wasn't sure you'd say yes," she admitted.

"Are you joking? Why wouldn't I?" I asked with an exploding happiness in my chest. "I'm so bloody in love with you, Wanda Maximoff."

She laced our fingers together as she nodded in agreement. "That's good. Because I'm in love with you, too."

And when she said that, it wasn't unlike anything she'd told me before. If she wasn't telling me she loved me, she was showing me in all sorts of ways. But this was different... this was the first time she'd told me as my fiancé. And then she'd soon be my wife. And it made me realise.

I'd spent so long thinking that if we were in a different life, we could have had it all. But we were getting it all now, so maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the wrong lifetime after all.

FIN.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff #mcu #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagine

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello                      Salut

Goodbye                La revedere

Thank you              Mulțumesc

You’re welcome      Cu plăcere

Good morning         Bună dimineata

Good afternoon       Bună ziua

Good evening          Bună seara

Good night               Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you?          Ce mai faci

I love you                 Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

The shifting narrative of God’s interventism and how it reflects on the narrative on John

This post will ignore the issue authorial intent entirely because I can, but it’s also about authorial intent in a way, but I also don’t like to talk about things as happening “accidentally” because a) a serialized story like Supernatural, especially one that got renewed for much longer than anyone could possibly expect or hope in their wildest ambitions, structurally relies on serendipity, because that’s how stories work when they’re work in progress, b) a television show is an extremely multi-authored text and the chance that something happens out of the intent of any of the multiple layers of creators is kind of... statistically negligible. So, yeah, that’s my stance on the topic. Anyway.

The shifting narrative about God is simultaneously something that hangs on fortunate storytelling clicks on an essentially programmed narrative. At first, we don’t know where the fuck God is. Cas starts looking for him with little success. Raphael says he’s dead, Cas doesn’t believe it. Dean relates to his struggle because he knows the feeling of not knowing where the fuck your father is and going looking for him with little success, not knowing if he’s even alive. Then the theory that gets assumed as the truth is that God has left. He fucked off who knows where, who knows why, leaving his creation to struggle alone. Also essentially how Dean had felt after John had died; in that case there was guilt for his demon deal and everything, but the most cruel weight on Dean’s shoulder was that John left him alone to struggle with his devastatingly horrific instructions he doesn’t understand. The angels are also left with horrific instructions they don’t understand. No wonder Cas does his own ‘demon deal’ in season 6, as he desperately tries to do what he assumes his father wants from him, but he doesn’t actually know what that is.

“God has left” is maddening, and everyone is angry about it, but it has its own dignity. God has left us without clear instructions, we are confused and in pain and evil runs amock but at least, we suppose, the evil of it is our own doing. We are alone and we do our best, our best is simply not enough. We wish he gave us guidance, but he won’t. He wants us to figure it out ourselves, possibly. We don’t actually know what he wants. But maybe that’s the point. It’s possible he doesn’t even know what’s happening, he just has left the building entirely.

But then Chuck reveals himself. We find out that he never actually left. He was there. “I like front row seats. You know, I figured I’d hide out in plain sight”. He simply chooses not to intervene. He chooses not to answer. He chooses to be hands-off. He presents himself as a laissez-faire parent, because, he says, it’s better for his children to have the responsibility they need to grow up. He’s absent, but in a different way than we thought! It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening or isn’t interested in knowing what’s happening. He’s here, he knows what’s happening, he just stays there and watches as you stumble and struggle and scream. It’s worse, and it pains Dean so much he isn’t even afraid to yell at God. You know we’re suffering and you just don’t give us any support, any comfort.

You’re frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being overinvolved is no longer parenting. It’s enabling.

But it didn’t get better.

Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.

Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.

I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don’t confuse me with your dad.

At that point of the show, the writing team almost certainly didn’t have the s14-15 twist in mind. So this was probably intended to be Chuck’s truth. Later it gets twisted (retconned?) into a lie, but about that later.

Here, Chuck is really good at manipulating the conversation. Dean has a perfectly valid point, because there IS a middle ground between being overinvolved and not being involved at all. There is a middle ground between enabling your children and abandoning them completely. But Chuck hits Dean where it hurts, plays the emotional card, basically tells him that he’s too emotional to understand, too emotional to think rationally about it, because he mixes his feelings about his father to the issue and thus cannot see it clearly. He basically tells him he’s too close to it to get it. You don’t understand parenting, Dean, because you’re too blinded by your emotions about your own little life and cannot see the big picture.

It doesn’t really matter here if he’s telling the truth or lying, it already says a lot about Chuck that he’s emotionally manipulating Dean, silencing him by hitting the painful spot.

But the thing is, 11.20 immediately presents Chuck as a liar. He makes Metatron read his autobiography and the very first line is a lie (“In the beginning, there was me. Boom – detail. And what a grabber. I mean, I’m hooked, and I was there.” “I’m hooked too, and yet... details. You weren’t alone in the beginning. Your sister was with you.”) and the stuff he talks about his experience as Chuck is not exactly truthful about anything (“That, you know, makes you seem like a really grounded, likable person.” “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “You are neither grounded nor a person!”). Metatron calls him out (“Okay. There are two types of memoir. One is honest... the other, not so much. Truth and fairy tale. Now, do you want to write Life by Keith Richards? Or do you want to write Wouldn’t It Be Nice by Brian Wilson?”). Chuck SAYS he chooses truth and gives Metatron a different manuscript, supposedly containing the truth, to which Metatron reacts positively. Metatron believes it, and we believe it with him.

Oh! Oh, this! This is what I was talking about. Chapter Ten “Why I Never Answer Prayers, and You Should Be Glad I Don’t”, and Chapter Eleven “The Truth About Divine Intervention and Why I Avoid It At All Costs”.

Nature? Divine. Human nature – toxic.

They do like blowing stuff up.

Yeah. And the worst part – they do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.

What about your responsibility?

I took responsibility... by leaving. At a certain point, training wheels got to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.

This is sort of what he later says to Dean, except that to Dean he talks about “beautiful creatures” “my baby”, talks about helping, none of the harsh tone he’s using here. When Metatron accuses him of hiding from Amara, he retorts “I am not hiding. I am just done watching my experiments’ failures”. What a different language, uh? Then Metatron asks him why he abandoned them, and Chuck answers “Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me”. Then, he admits he lied about “learning” to play the guitar and so on, because he just gave himself the ability, and then appears to Dean and Sam, after Metatron’s passionate speech about humanity.

So, no matter the authorial intent at the time - the truthiness of Chuck’s words was already ambiguous. He kept lying and being called out, or silencing the conversation with some good ol’ gaslighting.

The season 14 finale introduces the big twist: it was, indeed, all a lie. The whole of it. Chuck didn’t abandon shit. It was all him, minutely controlling the narrative of the universe, putting the characters through all the pain and struggles for his own amusement.

The “absent father” narrative was a lie.

What does this tell us about John? Nothing, according to the authorial intent that shines through Dabb’s Lebanon. But we don’t give a crap about Dabb’s authorial intent about John! He’s just one dude and plenty of other authors have painted a different picture. So I’m going to read the narrative the way I want, because I can, and the narrative allows me to. It’s all there.

I’m suggesting that the fact that Chuck lied when he talked about being a hands-off/absentee father parallels how Dean and Sam prefer to think of their father as an “absent father” when that’s not exactly a reflection of the truth.

You left us. Alone. ‘Cause Dad was just a shell. [...] And I-I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe.

Setting aside how “I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” sort of retcons and cleans up the Winchester family picture painted by ealier seasons, the fact that John didn’t really count as a functional father figure and Dean and Sam were essentually alone is not incorrect or anything. It is true that John would leave them to their own devices a lot, thus the long stays in motels, the hunger, the food-stealing, and all. But John wasn’t always absent, at all. He trained them as soldiers, he disciplined them, he was around enough for them to be intimately familiar with what happened when he drank. He drove them around.

It’s almost like it’s preferable to Dean and Sam to spin their own “absent father” narrative, putting the accent on the time they spent alone, painting their childhood as a time they had to grow up on their own, rather than acknowledge they grew up under the thumb of a controlling, looming figure they would regularly live in fear of, even when he was not physically present.

The “absent father” narrative is what Dean and Sam need to use to avoid confronting the reality of the father figure whose moods and whims they had to dance around. “I know things got dicey... you know, with Dad... the way he was. And I just... I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should have. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, probably looked like I took his side quite a bit.”

John shaped their lives. He shaped their identities. Even in the episodes where he abandons Dean or both children somewhere, he’s portrayed as the figure who drives the car. He symbolically drives the car, you know? John shaped Dean and Sam’s relationship with each other, both on a surface level (the conflicts) and on a deeper level (the parental dynamic).

Heck. The entire first season of the show plays on John’s disappearance as the “elephant in the room”. John is there by not being there, you know? And after he dies, his death - his absence - is again the elephant in the room for Dean, the weight on his psyche that he shatters under.

It is not wrong that Dean and Sam had to spend long periods of time without John. But John structured their lives in quite minute detail. Where they needed to be, what they needed to do, what they must not do, everything had to follow John’s instructions. A drill sergeant, the narrative called him, ordering how his sons needed to live their lives. That’s no absence, except on a level where Chuck not showing himself and pretending he’s not there can be considered absent. That’s a presence, not necessarily always physical, but semiotical and psychological.

John is an absent father as much as Chuck is a hands-off god. He even writes himself into the story around the time Cas has the “season 1” phase (let’s go look for dad/let’s go look for god), which is when John actually was alive and appeared. Then he was no longer physically there, but he was still shaping his characters’ lives, just like he’d always done.

The “absent father” narrative on John is that - a narrative. Spun by the characters themselves because it’s easier and actually kinder on John. Or, better, it allows them not to be crushed by the psychological implications of having to accept that their father was such a looming, minutely formative figure in their lives. They know, but they can wave the “absent father” idea around to avoid thinking about it.

“I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” is something easier to tell yourself. I was the one who did it all. But he wasn’t, and that’s the problem. The fact that John was their father - Dean’s and Sam’s - is the problem. But ironically, blaming himself for every failure is a better option for Dean than fully acknowledging John’s abuse. As long as he blames himself, he has control over it. The moment he acknowledges the extent of John’s influence, he loses control over the entire narrative of his own identity and the family identity, the family dynamics. That’s scarier, just like realizing that God manipulated everything is much scarier than the alternative. “God abandoned us” was indeed a better option, and “John left us alone” was a better option. But neither was true, and the characters faced the implications of the cosmic level, but never got to face the implication of the familial level, because the narrative always danced around it and then Dabb’s apologist version “won”.

But what’s been put in the show is still there. The narrative of John’s abuse is still there. Nothing can take it out of the story.

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #dean and john #dean and sam and john #dean and chuck #dean and god #spn 11x20 #spn 11x21 #spn 14x20 #spn 12x22 #et alii #spn #long post

[yaboylevi]

Shingeki no Kyojin's Ending Interview (May 2021)

Translation commissioned by @goldsword07​, DO NOT REPOST in full, always include credits and a link to this post if you use or share any parts of it.

Question: Congratulations on completing Shingeki no Kyojin’s serialization! How do you feel now that you have finished writing the final chapter?

Isayama: There’s still some work left to do when it comes to putting together the final manga volume*, so I don’t actually know how a “life without deadlines" feels like yet (laughs), but by publishing the final chapter, I feel like I can finally breathe again. However, there are still several things that need to be done.

(*Translator’s note: usually, putting together a volume includes: fixing drawing mistakes, sometimes even redrawing certain scenes if the author wasn’t satisfied with how they looked/their composition, fixing text (both wording or simply changing the Japanese characters used), drawing omake/extra pages, like the High School Caste fake previews, which usually take up 2 pages, and so on. So, of the 8 extra pages he mentions below, probably only 6 at max will be used to add new original story content.)

Q: What?! What else is there to be done?

Isayama: At first, the draft for the last page of the chapter was neatly divided into 5 panels, but I was feeling quite indecisive about it. At the time, that last page was a scene of 3 people running towards a tree on a hill. After having a meeting about that with Bakku-san and my other editors, I decided on a last-minute change, and I turned it into the one that is now published in Bessatsu Shonen Magazine. The limit for each printed chapter in Bessatsu Magazine was 51 pages, but since up to 8 extra pages can be added in manga volumes, I want to finish up everything that I couldn’t draw in the printed magazine and add it in the final manga volume.

Q: As for the serialization, which spanned 11 years and a half, have there been any changes about the way you think about mangas?

Isayama: Up until recently, I had drawn as if sexism wasn’t a thing, but when drawing the Marleyan military, which was comparatively more modern, if I had added, with no explanation whatsoever, female soldiers like I did for Paradis Island, it could’ve given the impression that Marley was quite a developed nation. It would’ve felt out of place. That’s why, as long as I was drawing a story set in an era of the past, I couldn’t draw female characters as part of the top brass of the military, because it would’ve meant acting as if there was no actual history of gender discrimination at the time.

It might be a story set in a fictitious world, but if you don’t connect it in some ways to the real world, it could end up becoming a story people cannot relate to.

Q: The unraveling of events that led to the final chapter has been quite shocking. Especially when it comes to Eren…

Isayama: I have been frenetically checking any and all reactions to that. There are as many honest opinions as there are people, and they’re all correct. With how I portrayed that part, it’s not so strange that it was interpreted as if Armin accepted the massacre. My portrayal was lacking. Armin didn’t approve of the despicable measures taken by Eren, but he ended up benefiting from the mass slaughter, regardless of his intentions. Armin, who couldn’t possibly understand Eren, faced their last farewell with a firm “Thank you for becoming a mass murderer for us”, essentially conveying how he himself was also an accomplice. He wanted to feel closer to Eren, even if just a little. I realized the final stage in particular had too difficult themes, and my portrayal was inadequate. I deeply regret that I wasn’t able to fully express them in the manga proper.

I’ve been drawing this manga for 11 years and a half, and when I completed the manuscript I truly believed that “everyone will be happy with this”. I was conceited. I apologize to those who have supported me until the end but have felt let down by the ending.

Q: During these 11 years and a half of serialization, have there been any memorable events?

Isayama: I’m happy that I could deepen the relationship with my assistants, as “manga friends”. When the serialization started, everyone was in their twenties, but now some of them are married and have even become parents, and we have become close family friends.

Q: Was the manga becoming an anime a memorable moment, too?

Isayama: The anime adaptation can certainly be considered another part of Shingeki no Kyojin. Lots of people got to know this story through watching the anime. Personally, it was refreshing for me too, as I could experience the story anew. In addition to that, the characters were taken out of my hands - in a good way - by the directors and voice actors, they began moving as independent “existences”. It was a first and interesting experience.

Q: Do you have a favorite scene?

Isayama: As far as drawings go, the scene I like the most is the one in chapter 104, “Victors”, when the Jaw Titan claws at the Attack Titan. Besides the fact that I feel like I can’t draw anything better than that, there also haven’t been that many action scenes with titans after chapter 104.

Q: Well then, what about your best chapter?

Isayama: One of them is chapter 71, “Bystander”. I feel like that chapter exceeded my abilities at the time. I like the way it doesn’t feel like “Shingeki no Kyojin”, as the spotlight was on the life of a single character who isn’t involved with the original story.

Q: Chapter 69, “Friends”, also depicts some characters’ personal life.

Isayama: I like that chapter, too! At the time of drawing its draft, I flattered myself with words such as “Uh? Aren’t I so mature?!”. Normally, I would draw the main story’s continuation, but in chapters 69 and 71’s case, it felt like I was drawing stories that were complete on their own.

Q: With the start of the Marley arc in chapter 91, “The other side of the ocean”, both titans and modern times’ weapons made an appearance in battle.

Isayama: That battle scene was the time I had the most fun while drawing mangas, I was in a state of total concentration and full energy.

Q: How has Shingeki no Kyojin been for you?

Isayama: It’s as if youth has come a bit late, a third of my life has been packed into this work. …Of course, there have been hard times, too, but it’s been a chapter of my life that normally you wouldn’t be able to experience and even now I struggle to think it was real. Although I’ve been spoiled by my readers, I had planned to draw all the while accepting even harsh opinions.

Q: Finally, a message to the readers, please!

Isayama: Through Shingeki no Kyojin, I could connect with an unfathomable number of people. I’ve been happy to share this time of my life with my readers, which is something that, if I had had a normal life, I would have never experienced.

Also, now that the serialization is over, I have been freed, so I want to stroll around a small city with a can of One Cup sake in one hand. That’s what I would call freedom.

#shingeki no kyojin #isayama hajime #armin arlert #eren yeager #snk official #snk translations #vivitranslates #snk spoilers

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Finishing Your Novel

April’s session of Camp NaNoWriMo is drawing to a close, and you might find yourself nearing the end of your novel. If you need some tips on writing and polishing the ending of your story, author Derek Murphy is here to share a few! Plus, you can check out the rest of our novel-finishing resources on our #NaNoFinMo page. 

You won NaNoWriMo and have a 50k collection of scenes and sentences, but how do you clean it up and get it done? How do you make sure it’s finished, satisfying and enjoyable? Here are 5 powerful strategies for finishing your novel and some helpful writing tips that will push you past the finish line.

1. Give it a satisfying resolution.

In order to have a powerful story, your book should probably focus on a main character’s change or transformation. There’s an inner war, a.k.a. the character’s emotional healing, and an outer war: the conflict that forced the reckoning. If it’s a purely symbolic internal realization, you can mirror that with actual conflict in the real scene: the breaking of a dish, a fit of rage, a sudden ray of sunlight (or a storm… this should not be pleasant; It’s a breaking point and spiritual death/rebirth).

You can clarify the moment of change by setting up an illustrative contrast, a before and after, that shows how those internal changes have resulted in real-world consequences or benefits. Each character’s unique challenge will match their personal weakness or fear. The price for victory is the one thing they have so far refused to do, or something they cannot give up or bear to lose.

Make sure your protagonist has gone through a transformative struggle to arrive at deep insights, knowledge or awareness. Find a way to deepen the incidental scenes so that they become instrumental to a deeper purpose, leading towards an identity-shifting event.

The plot is what happens, and it’s important. But you can make it more dramatic and meaningful by making sure you demonstrate how hard it was and what it cost. It matters, it is remarkable, because it forced your protagonist to change.

Your conclusion might include:

Physical tension as allies perform a tug-of-war battle against resistance, that shows how difficult this struggle is, and how much force is required.

The consideration phase, as characters are tempted last minute or the price for victory is revealed: the sweet memories that give them awareness that this fight is worth the cost or risk (you need to show them making the choice, knowing what they will lose).

The final flashback, as the full backstory is revealed so we can see exactly why this conflict is so difficult or meaningful for the main character.

2. Add (unresolved) conflict.

Your story is made up of the events and scenes, where something happens. Each new event will push the characters further into the plot. Slow scenes where nothing is really happening can be red flags, so the first thing to focus on is increasing conflict, drama, suspense and intrigue. This is what creates urgency. The full reveal, demonstrating why THIS challenge is so difficult and powerful, should happen just before the final battle or resolution.

You want to make sure every scene, especially in your conclusion, has enough conflict. I recommend these three:

Outer Conflict (threats): Challenges or obstacles that prevent the character from achieving goals.

Inner Conflict (doubts): Moral struggles, decisions, guilt or shame, anger.

Friendly Fire (betrayal): Strong disagreements between allies or supporting characters. 

You want to extend and deepen the potential conflict, without resolving it too easily. The biggest destroyer of conflict is conversation: when your characters just sit around and talk to each other. Most conflict involves a lack of information, and a desire for clarity. A lot of conflict is perceived or imagined.

The most important information needs to come last, and come at a great price. The information that has an emotional impact, and influences their actions and decisions, should be big reveals at dramatic peaks. A surprise or twist should be treated as an event: each scene is leading towards a change or new piece of information that provokes the protagonist to respond.

3. Fill plot holes with character motivation.

After you’ve made sure that “what actually happens” is intriguing (opening questions and raising tensions without resolving them) you can focus on making sure the plot holes are filled, and characters are properly motivated – these two things are usually adjacent.

You can find and fill plot holes by asking:

Why are the characters doing this?

Why does any of it matter?

Basically, readers need to respect the main characters enough to care what happens to them, so their choices and actions need to make sense within the given information. If there’s a simpler, easier solution, readers will get stuck up on “why didn’t they just…”? To fix plot holes and gaps in logic or continuity, or make the story go where you need it to, you can add urgency, fix the mood of the scene (bigger stakes require bigger justifications), show characters in a weakened mental state, or raise concerns but have them dismissed, with an excuse or justification.

You need rational characters to make plausible choices that lead to dire consequences. You need show why they don’t do something easier, or nothing at all, or why they face clear challenges, despite potential obstacles.

They’ll also require a deeper motivation, for why they’re willing to put themselves in identity-destroying conflict, rather than just giving up or running away. Why do they stay in THIS fight, when they’ve run from similar ones? If they weren’t ready at the beginning, why are the ready now – what changed in them, as a result of your story’s journey?

Your protagonist needs to have a strong, consistent internal compass, and it needs to be revealed through incidents that establish their character. This is who they are. Without this reliable core identity, we won’t be able to tell a story that forces them to change. 

4. Let readers picture your story with detailed description.

In the final stages of revision, you can begin improving the description with specific details.

It’s smart to start – or end – a chapter with a vivid, immediate scene. You want to leave readers with an image they can see in their minds, hopefully connected to the feeling you aim to evoke. You can close a chapter with a reference back to a motif or image, with a deeper or more reflective context; applying meaning to the metaphor. This will help readers feel engaged, be moved, and leave a lasting impact.

Vivid scenes are mostly a matter of detailed description, so add the specifics about the story environment. Be precise, not vague. Instead of “she put a plate of tea and snacks on the table” you can write “she gently placed an antique porcelain teapot on the table. I could smell it was Earl Grey from the scent of bergamot. The half-sleeve of Oreos and can of onion-flavored Pringles seemed incongruous with the fancy dishes, but I knew she was making an effort to welcome me.”

Focus on the sensations and feelings; but also zero-in on any potential sources of conflict or internal emotions or states of mind. In my example above, the host might be nervous or ashamed of her spread; or perhaps she has a degenerative brain disease and doesn’t notice the incongruity. Tensions are unspoken, potential sources of negative feelings. They hover in the background of your description.

Readers will remember the pictures you put in their heads, not the words on the page.

Description should serve and be bound to the story, not distract from it.

It should be squeezed into and around the scene action, when the protagonist is using or exploring.

Show what’s different, not what’s the same.

Leave space for readers to fill in the gaps, but get them started in the right direction so they aren’t surprised later.

Sidenote: be careful about your metaphors, analogies and similes. Each one will put a picture into readers’ minds, and it can quickly get overcrowded with imagery. You’re asking them to ignore your real scene and think of something else. Use them to confirm and amplify the scene you have, and limit distractions.

5. Prepare to publish.

Typos are bad, but perfectionism will ruin you. This section is about editing and proofreading, but I don’t have time for all that, and you don’t either. The real problem with a story is rarely the number of typos. A very clean book isn’t better if people stop reading.

You can solve a lot of common writing problems, with my big list of 25 common writing mistakes, and self-edit your manuscript to make it as good as possible. After that, a copyeditor or proofreader isn’t always the best investment (and it can also be the biggest publishing cost).

Instead, use an editing software (I like Grammarly) to root out obvious mistakes, but don’t dwell on the small stuff like perfecting every word or rearranging the commas. Spending a very long time wrestling a poorly-written manuscript in shape is less effective than getting something (actually) done to the point where you’re comfortable sharing it.

This may be difficult at first, but you can’t learn and improve without genuine reader feedback (from people who aren’t your mom or best friend; nor the short-sighted opinions of a self-proclaimed literature enthusiast). You need to find readers who enjoy your particular genre, and the sooner you find them, the more valuable feedback you can get.

Shorten the feedback loop: Get over the fear and focus on learning by getting feedback early and often. However, this doesn’t just mean joining a writer’s club: writers are brutal and might focus on trivial things. The safest bet is to make it public, on Wattpad at least. Or get a cheap cover and throw it up on Kindle, Draft2Digital or even your own blog.

Making it public is scary and vulnerable, but it’s better than letting the fear of messing up keep you from the brutal, necessary experience of allowing readers to tell you what they liked and disliked about your writing. Will some people be critical? Yes! But guess what, you’ll get negative reviews even if you’re a brilliant, famous writer. Those are inevitable. And the first negative reviews may teach you more about writing than 10 years attempting to self-edit, afraid of putting your book out into the world.

PS. You can use resources, like my 24-chapter plot outline, as a way to spot story gaps in your manuscript and improve the structure (especially if your book suffers from a “soggy middle.)

Derek Murphy has a PhD in Literature, writes urban fantasy and is the founder of the alliance of young adult authors. More recently, he’s started sharing writing tips on http://www.writethemagic.com

Top photo by Adegbenro Emmanuel Dipo on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #nanofinmo #writing advice #writing tips #finishing a novel #by nano guest #derek murphy

[holycow99]

石田お寿司 12/9/21 stream translation Part 1

This is not the full translation of the stream. I only translated the parts I could understand & interpret or parts I found interesting/important. I’m still a beginner in Japanese, so the translations may not be accurate. If you want to repost, please repost at your own risk.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I: Hello. Can you hear me? Good night. (t/n: He’s replying to a comment.) You can hear me? Hello. Welcome.

I: My tone sounds great today, ***-kun? (t/n: OP commented that his tone sounds great.) Of course I’ll be excited in the beginning of the stream. But only in the beginning.

C: Your voice somehow sounds young.

I: It’s because I just slept.

*Typing on twitter

I: I finally did it. This is a simultaneous worldwide stream. Do you understand it? Ah, I’m so tired. I’m tired of sleeping.

I: I’ll be drinking my coffee. Itadakimasu.

I: It was a long vacation, wasn’t it? When was the last time you guys heard from me? On September…Well, it doesn’t matter.

I: I don’t have anything particular to do for this stream. I just felt like it.

C: I’ve been listening to your streams repeatedly during holiday.

I: Thank you.

C: We last heard from you at the end of August.

I: I see. Thanks.

C: Thank you for your hard work on the manuscript!

I: I did the rough sketches first. I was brainstorming.

*Someone commented on Animal Rap.

I: Animal rap? I actually wanna try this. Actually, I’ve done recording for one video, but won’t it be scary if suddenly in the middle of the stream, animal rap video is uploaded. Without saying anything, suddenly there’s a new animal rap video being uploaded. Won’t it be scary stream?

(t/n: I’m not sure if the translations for this part is correct. He said something more but I haven’t reached this level of Japanese understanding skill. Forgive me.)

C: Animal rap itself is scary, so it’s okay.

I: What a hilarious thing to say. Are you actually afraid of animal then?

C: Have you got vaccinated?

I: Nope, since I’ve been locked up in my house. I want to though. I want to get injected a lot. Around 10 times.

C: Sensei, did you read Berserk chapter 364?

I: Is it the final chapter?

Y****: Let’s inject the head.

I: Nice one, Y****. Well, since Y**** is an introvert at school, he must be a non-popular kid. Because he doesn’t have any friends, he can’t wait to meet me. Is it like that? Hahahaha.

I: I’m not even aware of the things happening around me. I don’t even know when the exhibition in Osaka will open. I want you guys to tell me about me.

C: I’m aiming to be a mangaka, but having someone that can be a mentor for me to learn from is better, as expected?

I: I don’t think so. It depends. In some degree, it’s better to do it by yourself. If you really wanna write a manga and you wanna create an environment that allows you to do so, if there’s a chance to be an assistant, I think it’s better for you to grab it. Because you’re still not familiar with how these things work. I think it’s better to be an assistant first. You don’t have to be one for a long time though.

C: I want to diet. Where should I start?

I: Record your weight. Measure your weight and record it in calendar. Doing that makes you feel conscious about your weight. You’ll probably can lose weight that way.

C: Are you still eating oatmeal?

I: I’ve been eating Onigiri only. 

C: I wanna change job, but I’m anxious to because of the economic situation. Please encourage me!

I: It’s better for you to change job, since you said you wanted to. I think everyone is anxious. There’s no one who isn’t.

C: I’m happy that the JJ illustration that you posted on twitter will be made into goods!

I: Yeah, without my permission. Hahaha. When the illustration was made into goods without my permission, I was like “Eh? This is…”. I’ll stop talking about this. Hahaha. I won’t talk about this.

*Someone commented about Kingdom exhibition.

I: I wanna go to the Kingdom exhibition.

I: What I said just now (about JJ illustration) was a lie. Please forget about it. Are there companies like that? Of course not. I was just joking. If that’s the case, then anybody can freely turn my illustrations into goods. Though there’s a person who sent me the PugMax t-shirt.

C: I wanted to be a mangaka when I was small. As I got older, I only immersed myself in the real world. I’ll be a civil servant starting from next year. I don’t have the courage to challenge myself, so I want to give my unconditional support to those who are.

I: I don’t know how old you are, but you can still draw even if you become a civil servant. Just draw one if you really want to.

C: You have to collect royalty.

I: I do get royalty. I get 5 yen in total.

C: How old will you be this year?

I: 250,000 years old.

C: How are you?

I: Like usual. But I made progress on the manuscript, so I’m relieved. I kinda forgot how to draw it.

C: I thought you were in your 30s.

I: Nope, I’m far older.

C: You haven’t started game streaming?

I: I’m haven’t decided yet for today.

*People were discussing about his age.

I: Doesn’t matter how old I am.

C: Do you prefer women with long hair or short hair?

I: Short hair.

*People commented about Heavy Rain.

I: Oh, you want to see me playing Heavy Rain? I’m okay with that. I’m okay with playing games or anything. I’ll be a yes-man for today. Everyone’s yes-man & toy, Ishida Osushi.

*Someone commented about Animal Rap again.

I: I wanted to say something about this. I’ve done the animal rap video. I only upload videos I’ve received from the animal themselves, not me. But I was afraid to upload it, so I refrained from doing so. I wanna try uploading the video while streaming. That’s what I wanted to say. Well, it doesn’t really matter. I just upload it after I finish streaming. I don’t understand the need to upload the video and streaming at the same time.

(t/n: He said something more, but again, info on Animal rap is hard for me to decipher. I’m really sorry.)

C: What did you watch recently?

I: Movies.

C: There were people who got scared by the fact that Ishida Sui raps.

I: No, you’re wrong. Ishida Sui doesn’t rap. Ishida Sui doesn’t do streaming as well.

C: Do mangakas have the chance to meet women?

I: It depends on the person. The ones who’re locked up in the house won’t. But…That’s right. You might if the workplace has mixed genders. You also have the chance to meet people during party or some sort. I’ll always be at the corner every time I go to parties. It’d be nice if the party was fun and the staffs could enjoy themselves. I also said that I went to parties to take a break, but I hated it.

C: You’re not going to parties?

I: Nope, I won’t. The company doesn’t hold them as well because of the current situation.  Even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t really eat the food, and introducing myself to people is tiresome.

I: S****** is here.

S******: Ishida Osushi can become a pro mangaka.

I: I’m aiming for it.

C: Fukuoka suits you, sensei.

I: Somehow, I feel grateful. It’s like you’re telling me that it’s okay for me to live in Kyushu.

(t/n: Kyushu is an island where Fukuoka is located.)

C: Sir Osushi, what do you think of Sir Sui?

I: I have a murderous intent towards him.

C: Does the thumbnail hold any meaning?

I: It does. Look forward to it.

C: Being a streamer suits you (Osushi) better than being a mangaka.

I: Hahaha.

C: The drawings of Neji (JJ character) by Ms. Towada were wonderful!

I: That’s right. Neji drawn by Ms. Towada. I want you guys to tell me something like this. I want you guys to tell me about my current situation. Things like, “would you retweet this?”, “This is JJ’s…”, “The CD’s also…”. Let me change my twitter account. First is Ms. Towada, right? Let’s retweet Ms. Towada’s tweets. I thought of drawing something like this. She drew quite a lot. She drew him more than me. I feel bad having her to draw it. I feel grateful rather than feeling bad. She drew a lot of them. Yonaga’s illustration looks nice. I see… There’s like an incomplete rough drawing. I thought of copying and drawing that illustration. I’ll just retweet this. Tell me what should I retweet next.

C: Is Ms.Towada doing well as well?

I: I talked to her a few days ago.

I: Do read Fool Night.

C: Do you like Aespa? (t/n: Aespa is a kpop girl group. Ishida had drawn one of the members.)

I: The girl caught my attention. I thought she was beautiful.

*Someone commented about his illustration of Ano-chan. (t/n: Ano-chan is a Japanese singer. Ishida had come to her radio programme once, and he did the album cover for her latest album.)

I: Ano-chan! What happened to that? Have you seen the album cover? It’s already out?

*Someone commented about Fool Night.

I: The world in Fool Night is super amazing. It was quite a while ago, the person in charge of the Superior magazine watched one of my streams and asked me if I could write some comments. I was like “Don’t tell me that!” (referring to watching his stream). I hate being seen. But then, I was like “whatever.” I usually turned it down, but I just wrote for this one.

*Someone commented about Wooma (t/n: an illustrator.)

I: Who’s Wooma? Let me check it.

C: Sensei, I’m a good child. So, is it okay for me to sleep?

I: Yes, of course.

C: Sensei, do you smoke?

I: No.

I: Ah, Wooma is the illustrator for the song ‘Usseewa’. Sorry for the lack of knowledge.

C: Do you watch Christopher Nolan’s works?

I: I’m not that familiar with movies, but I may or may not watch it. I’ve been getting into movies lately. I searched for the movies Takahashi Kunimitsu told me about. You tend to watch anything when you’re obsessed with movies, right? I was also obsessed with history for a while after I learned how fun it was from Takahashi Kunimitsu. I’ve been reading 2-3 books on history a day lately.

C: Until what time are you gonna stream?

I: Today is infinite as well. We have another 12 minutes left. Haha. I’ll keep on streaming today. I won’t end the stream today. It may end tomorrow. (t/n: He definitely kept his words.)

C: Sensei, do you like itzy? (t/n: Itzy is another kpop girl group, and Ishida had also drawn one of the members.)

I: Yes.

I: Tomorrow is a holiday? There are people who are not working tomorrow.

C: What are you drinking?

I: Coffee.

C: You only need another 800 people to reach 30,000 subscribers.

I: Yeah. It’s gonna reach 30,000. I have to make an appreciation stream or video for 30,000 subscribers. A lot of youtubers are doing this, so I have to do it too. I wanna do it. Feels like a youtuber. Isn’t it fun? I wonder what should I do for it? What would be fun? Let’s go with this concern first. I get lost if I don’t go one-by-one. It’s one of my bad habits.

*They’re planning on what Ishida should do when he reaches 30,000 subscribers.

C: Show your nails.

I: I don’t do manicure.

C: Heavy Rain.

I: Wanna play Heavy Rain as well.

C: Please let us hear your sneeze.

I: There is such person sometimes. Creepy.

C: Why don’t you play Ghosts n Goblins for now?

I: After the stream, I felt like playing the game. They had something like magical clock, though I forgot the name. The one that double the speed of the game. I really wanted to play that, honestly. Though, it wasn’t suitable for streaming. I thought of playing it in my own time. I really like that kind of games.

C: Will you sing when you reach 30,000?

I: During the previous silent stream, Queen Bee’s song was playing. Those who watched may know. I thought of appearing for a moment and sing and then end the stream. I wouldn’t do it, but I just thought about it. At that time, I wanted to try having just an illustration stream.

C: I’m waiting for an autograph session after the Corona ends.

I: The pandemic probably won’t end for at least 2-3 years.

*Someone wanted him to sing Gaston’s song.

I: Gaston. Singing, huh? Hahaha, why am I having second thoughts? I thought I’m okay with anything.

C: how about a karaoke battle?

I: Karaoke battle, huh?

C: Do you have any piercings?

I: I’m not wearing one right now, but I do have it. (t/n: I didn’t expect him to have a piercing. He’s really different than what I imagined a mangaka to be. XD)

C: I’m hoping for JJ’s song covers!

I: JJ? JJ’s songs are difficult. It was super hard during the time I did the covers. Seriously, when I heard it back…The cover for the opening theme was scary. I thought my singing ability had increased since I recorded this one the last. A few months ago, I listened to it after a long time, it was…what should I call it? A sutra, no, a curse. Me and JJ’s opening theme. I forgot the title of the song. Jack and something. There were parts in the songs where the female and male characters had to harmonise. To convey that part, I had to cover the song multiple times. I multiplied into 7 people, since I had to record as Kisa as well. When I was recording Kisa’s part, the other version of me at the back, probably Kai, was harmonising with me. I was told to deepen my voice by Mr.Kasama. So embarrassing. The voice was really low. I was drawn by Mr. Kasama’s voice. His voice was really good when he said ‘Broccoli’ for the cm.

*Ishida imitating Mr. Kasama.

I: It’s cooler than this.

*Imitating him once again.

I: I was like “So cool!”

C: Invite the animals that appeared in Animal rap as guests.

I: That’s a good idea. But what would the guests be doing? It’s absolutely hard to do that. It’s hard to invite the animals because of corona.

C: The title is “Jack & Jeanne of Quartz”.

I: Right. Thank you.

C: Won’t you invite Hanae?

I: I won’t. That’s impossible. (t/n: I want to see him playing horror games with Hanae Natsuki.)

Part 2

#ishida sui #tokyo ghoul #jack jeanne #choujin x #chojin x #ishida sushi channel

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (17/17)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Link to cross-postings: AO3

The most difficult part for Levi was picking the best place to read.

His first choice was the oval. It was almost summer though and Levi was familiar enough with the timeline to know training must have started already. The last thing he wanted to do was run into old teammates and be forced to maintain some inkling of a conversation.

His second choice was the library. And it wasn’t a bad choice. For a while, Levi had settled on one of the desks at the corner of the library, far from cramming students or students looking for a convenient place to cool off. Seats on the corner didn’t have wide windows though and the artificial light and the artificial chill of the room had turned out to be distracting.

It was only a few pages in did Levi realize, he would have preferred some green around him and the heat of late spring wasn’t so bad. He started to wonder why he had even considered reading indoors in the first place.

He had ended up wasting a good fifteen minutes only to fall back to where he had parted ways with Hange anyway.

In front of the science building.

Hange was inside one of the empty classrooms defending her final thesis. Levi sat on one of the benches to the corner of the building, closing his eyes tight as if that would have been enough to make out the voices inside the building.

Others came to watch and he was sure of that. He had seen Erwin on the way in. Nanaba and Mike had waved at him, asking if he’d be coming inside.

Levi decided against it long before and maybe Hange would have preferred it that way too. After all, she must have left him that particular manuscript before entering the building for a reason. He read the title page, neatly printed in a very much readable and professional font.

Although it had looked like one with the thick cover and the hard binding, as soon as Levi opened the first page, the small title on the upper left had him speechless yet very much convinced.

It wasn’t her thesis manuscript.

To: Captain Levi

Captain Levi. How long had it been since he heard that name and that title? Hange had called him that months before. He had remembered writing about him. The words on the page, Hange's voice, Kuchel’s voice and his own voice all mentioning those same two words in succession had happened, he was sure of that much.

The circumstances though with each memory had blurred into each other one by one and he liked to attribute it to his hermit tendencies the succeeding months after his injury.

Life had been different since then. He had gone back to face to face classes. He had been working on his thesis. Hange had been working on her own thesis too. And they were both just too busy trying to graduate on time given the chaos of the first semester.

He stared at the title page for a few more seconds pondering that chaos, possibly trying to reach for something behind that haze to no avail. The only thing he was able to grasp then had been a bout of nostalgia.

And the nostalgia was more than enough to get him in the mood to read. He chalked up the small stint in the library to a test run and started again from the beginning.

Hange Zoe was born to a rich family within the Walls of Wall Sina…

Hange had taken great pains to describe everything from the cobblestone streets to the crystal-like bricks that lined the walls of the elegant buildings. The bricks shone with a unique glint and that alone had been enough for Hange to waste one paragraph on it.

She then used up another few paragraphs talking about the stifling life within the walls and her own curious nature.

If there’s something you don’t understand, go out and learn to understand it.

Living within the walls wasn’t in her nature so she ran away. She joined the survey corps. She was drawn to the outside world, drawn to titans.

So she became a researcher.

Levi didn’t notice it at first. Although his brain had been able to partition those few early events on the timeline, eventually the words started to shift, blur into one another and he found himself scanning through the paragraphs much quicker than usual.

He knew that much about squad leader Hange Zoe. He knew she hyper fixated on titans. He didn’t need vivid descriptions of Sonny and Bean nor did he need detailed descriptions of the outside world, the guns, the war or even her theories on the rumbling.

She had already told him everything then in the forest. She had told it to him back then in the office. Before he even knew it himself, he was flipping through the pages much faster. Suddenly his mind was pushing him to look out for certain things as he read.

There was something else he was looking for, between the lines of the descriptive narrations of Hange Zoe’s life.

“Maybe we should just live here together right Levi?”

Levi found the quote three pages before the back cover, towards the upper left of the page. He found himself running his left hand up to the corner of the page, slipping that corner between his two fingers, pressing on the ink on paper, just to make sure it wouldn’t so easily smudge with touch. Maybe it might even disappear like some sort of an illusion.

He just had to make sure it was real.

Hange’s exposition on sceneries was exhaustive. They were clear and vivid and they covered everything to the most granular bits of the large painting in his mind. If Levi closed his eyes, he was sure he would see the forest then.

Although Hange’s descriptions were detailed, comprehensive, enough to paint easy pictures in his head, they were far from introspective.

She had taken great pains to describe the darkness, the crackling campfire and the rough gashes of his face but she didn’t talk much about how it felt. Maybe it was up to the reader to contemplate them.

So Levi filled in the blanks, he filled the spaces between the lines with emotions, musings, ponderings. He couldn’t be too sure yet whether they were his or hers though, so he trudged on aimlessly as he read.

Everything happened in fast forward from there. Although Hange never left his side when she could, she was still fighting, suddenly she was strategizing.

Of course she would, she was a commander. He was just an injured soldier.

There was another quote, towards the last page on the upper right and Levi found himself running his pointer finger through it and he pressed on it hard, hard enough to crumple the pages of that corner. He ran his nail through it leaving a noticeable crease before he closed the binder and took a deep breath.

Dedicate your heart.

Just like every other page, there was no introspection into the character that made Hange Zoe, only words, more words then vivid descriptions of everything that happened after.

He didn’t need white spaces between the lines to figure it out for himself. Even if the pages had all been black, save for the words and the emotions they evoked, he felt it then like a weight.

But he shook it off, opened the book once again and continued to read.

Hange flew up. She fought titan after titan. And the fight had ended with her burning up in the air with the one last quote below.

“Titans really are incredible.”

Levi had half the mind to close the book again there, except that time, with no intention of reopening it. If he didn’t hyper fixate on that last sentence towards the end of the page, towards Commander Hange Zoe’s last words, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed the faded grey at the back of the last paragraph.

It was particularly noticeable on the white, between the lines of paragraphs. Once again Levi played with the creases just to make sure he hadn’t missed it. It was the last page, he was sure.

There was something written on the other side of the page. As much as it had ached to read on, Levi willed himself to flip the page.

It was empty, a blank white page. Fortunately, Levi was desperate enough to stare at it a little longer and he soon realized, he was focused on the center, somehow he had expected to find some sort of resolution there.

Hange had left the last line towards the upper left corner.

See you later Hange. Watch over us. Next to it was a shabbily drawn airplane and unlike all the other pages, it was smudged. The ink had blotted, sending light streaks of gray towards the right in such a predictable manner, Levi could almost imagine the way she had held the crease of the corner between her finger tips.

Once again, he shifted the weight of the page, moving his thumb and his pointer to that corner, reproducing the motions of how she must have messed up something so simple. It was easy to imagine and Levi found himself smiling.

Below it, towards the lower part of the page, he saw it. It was written with the same gel pen that bled through the other side of the page.

There were so many things I wanted to tell you but I never got the chance.

“Then why didn’t you say it? You had ten pages to say it.” Hell, you had five years to say it.

The next line read as if Hange had already predicted what he was going to say next.

I was the commander. You were the captain. We had a war to fight.

But you know, I thought when everything ends, once we retire I could let you know.

In a moment of dissonance, Levi started to wonder who those words were for. For all he knew, he could have been telling her the same thing.

Even if you don’t remember, I hope you at least felt it.

Please remember. Even if I wasn’t able to tell you anything, even if I couldn’t stay by your side.

I was watching you until the end.

Commander Hange Zoe

“Commander Hange Zoe,” Levi said it out loud a second time. Those words were ambrosia to his lips and he probably mouthed it a few more times as he stared at the blue sky above him.

Levi let his shoulders fall and he looked back down at the binder. He didn’t even notice he had closed it. “There were so many things I wanted to tell you too.”

You said it already. Commander Hange heard you. The answer came as a whisper. A quiet whisper that blew into his ear, caressing his neck.

And it had him jumping on his seat. “What the fuck Hange.”

“Are you done being sad already?”

“Why would I be sad?”

“Because Commander Hange Zoe died and you were staring at the sky like this for a good few minutes.” Hange let her head fall back playfully and Levi could have sworn he didn’t look like that. When she looked back at him a second later, she gave a knowing smile, an almost mocking smile.

That was enough to get Levi a little abrasive. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was watching you,” Hange said. “You looked like you were concentrating so…”

“I was.”

“So I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You could have announced your presence like a normal person at least, maybe drop a greeting?”

“I had to look for you and you weren’t answering your phone then I got impatient.” Hange seemed unperturbed. “Come on, I’m treating you guys out to dinner.”

Levi opened his phone to see an hour had passed since he last checked the time and beneath it five missed calls, all from Hange. On the upper right of his phone, the silent mode sign flashed like some sort of reminder. “I was in the library so I had to put my phone on silent.” Those words in defense of his actions were instinctive. Soon, as Hange looked back gesturing for him to follow her, he started to realize that maybe that defense was useless.

“Okay Levi,” Hange said. Her tone was reminiscent of a know-it-all. Her pace was insultingly slow. Levi found himself angrily quickening his pace to catch up to her.

Hange’s pace was at least slow enough that even with his recovering leg, he found it easy to catch up. The moment Levi walked past her, he felt familiar arms on his shoulder. They weighed on him and in a way, they had prevented him from overtaking her.

He had no intention of doing so anyway. “How was your defense?” Levi asked. It was an easy question to start with.

“Better late than never but I’m getting a diploma.”

“Late? You’re graduating with all of us.”

“I’m the last one among my batchmates who presented.”

“Believe me, I’m more amazed that you managed to get something out even after redoing your thesis three times.”

“I should thank Kuchel, it was her sources which got me here. I’ll probably send her a copy of my thesis as a thank you. You think she’ll appreciate that?”

“She probably will. Something to help her pass the time when she goes on leave.”

“Leave?”

“In our last session, she told me she’s expecting.”

“Oooh? A baby?”

“She ended up opening up to me about it after our session. She was pretty nervous about having a child for a while and recently, she managed to get over that fear.”

“I guess we all had something to deal with…” Hange said as she pulled him towards the gate. “You think we’ll get to meet the kid one day. I’d love to see Kuchel as a mother.”

“She’ll be a great mother…” Somehow, Levi knew it. He only had to look back at her words, her refined tone and the way she easily shifted between professional and motherly to be almost jealous of the child growing in her womb.

Hange gave him a toothy grin. “Let’s visit her together?”

“Why not?”

The conversation died as they turned the corner of one of the buildings along the path, a corner that opened up to a large courtyard and beyond it the gate of their university.

“Wait, where are we going?” Levi asked,

“I told you, I’m treating you guys out.” Hange answered matter-of-factly.

“Where Hange?”

“We’re having grilled meat.”

“Hange? For the third time… Where?” Levi asked.

It wasn’t Hange who had ended up answering the question. By the gate, Moblit and Nifa were waiting and they looked like they had been waiting a while. Nifa was tapping her feet impatiently while Moblit had seemed genuinely concerned.

“You guys okay? You looked like you were fighting,” Moblit said as he approached them.

“Where are we eating?” Levi asked.

“The Korean grill just a few blocks away.” Moblit said.

Levi didn’t need any more clarification from there. They were all from the same university and the restaurants around the area were a common language among them.

“That’s how you answer a question Hange,” Levi muttered coldly.

“Well, I didn’t think the location was important. I was leading you there already anyway,” Hange responding mirroring that same cold tone with her own. She went ahead and put one arm around Moblit muttering unintelligible words save for the quick congratulations at the start.

“Congratulations?” Levi asked.

“He got nominated for best thesis and everyone's pretty convinced he’s gonna win it,” Nifa answered. She had fallen back behind the two and matched Levi’s pace.

Moblit eventually raised his voice, loud enough for even Levi to hear. “No No… That was your data Hange and it was your idea. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“Still…” Hange’s voice trailed off. She was far enough, her voice was garbled enough that with that few feet distance, her words were unintelligible. Her smile though was very much still perceptible, a genuine golden smile.

“Levi, you agree right?”

Levi looked towards the voice, Moblit’s voice. “Agree with what?”

“If Hange had submitted her thesis early, she could have won ri---.”

“Moblit, stop downplaying your nomination.” Hange interrupted, giving him a strong push n the back.

Moblit wobbled and held onto Hange’s shirt to keep his balance “But it was a good thesis right?” He asked as soon as he recovered. He looked at Levi expectantly.

It was only then did Levi realize, despite the five months together, he never really thought too much to ask what her thesis had been about. With his own hectic schedule, his physical therapy sessions, his sessions with Shela, maybe it just never peaked his interest. He was starting to feel guilty at such a reminder and before he knew it, he was finding excuses for it.

She spent a lot of the past few months cooped up in her room if not in class, save for the few moments when she would accompany to therapy sessions or to meet with Shela.

His thoughts flew back to the document she had shared with him.

To: Levi Ackerman.

And if that document was half as good as her thesis, he was sure she did well. So he returned Moblit’s approval with one of his own. “It was a good thesis,” Levi said. “But don’t downplay yours. You won fair and square.”

That was all there was to it. Hange didn’t win. But she didn’t seem to mind either. Hange had snuck what looked to be a grateful smile and she continued to playfully poke at Moblit then, probably whispering inside jokes, reminiscing about their life before.

Her mood was unwavering all the way until the restaurant

It turned out Mike and Nanaba were in the restaurant already and they only joined Hange at glomping Moblit for his nomination. The four childhood friends created a world of their own in the restaurant, a world full of inside jokes, long gone memories and maybe even discussions on future plans.

Levi deemed it appropriate to sit on a chair at the edge of their long table and just quietly listen.

Mike was selected for the national team.

Nanaba wanted to go back to minor league volleyball after college.

Moblit was going to medical school

And Nifa, who had joined their conversation then, was going to take masters.

Hange’s plans were either long-awaited or they were intentionally avoided. He couldn’t tell.

By the time the question came, it had come as a casual question by Moblit who had always been sensitive with the way he phrased things so his intention had been something Levi couldn’t read either.

Before Hange could open her mouth though, Nifa chimed in greeting. “Doctor Erwin!”

“Sorry I’m late. We were discussing the nominees,’ Erwin said.

And the topic shifted from there, even before Levi could get answers.

Erwin never spilled who the winner was, but it was apparent in his gaze that shifted to the side and the smile that curled up his lips that it was one of them. By the time Hange had started being too vocal about it, Erwin had spilled more than enough for the students to guess for themselves.

“You’re free anytime next week for an awarding ceremony right?” Erwin asked.

“Anytime sir! Thank you for this opportunity.”

Erwin shook his head. “You wrote a great thesis. It was well deserved. Will you be inviting Elijah?”

“I think I should treat him out, I’ve wasted a lot of his time this past year... He’s been pretty busy training with the national team though… But I’ll talk to him.”

Their long table was already a conglomerate of conversations and Levi struggled to keep up.

Somewhere between conversations, the charcoal had been added to the grills, the sides were served and Levi found himself listening intently to Erwin and Moblit’s exchange in particular while he played with the spinach on his plate.

Elijah swept the high jump. He swept the other events. He came out winning the Most Valuable Player Award for the High Jump. And he recently started training with the national team.

The Olympics isn’t a far off dream at this point. It’s probably just another step for him.

Moblit had shown up for the first training and he had started to describe Elijah’s skill with the bar then. His coordination with the take off food, his wide penultimate stride.

He was using lingo most track and field athletes wouldn’t have thought twice to use and Levi had used and heard them more times than he had counted through the years. Having not thought about high jumping in months, listening to such a conversation peppered with such words that used to be home for him, seemed surreal.

So surreal that for a second, Levi lost his grip on a reality. Enough to not have noticed the waitress who served the drink in front of him

It was a short and stout glass. The contents looked particularly ---almost dangerously--- colorful and the red stick on the side was enough for Levi to deduce what exactly it was. To confirm it, he took one sniff.

“Nanaba, why the hell did you order alcohol?” Hange asked.

“It’s a celebration right? We should be drinking. Cheers!” She raised her cup up to no one in particular.

Moblit and Nifa had been nice enough to join albeit a little uncomfortably. Levi found himself making eye contact with Erwin who was still slowly mixing the cup in front of him, seeming unsure of what exactly happened.

Hange seemed flustered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with us drinking but more people are coming and---”

“Sorry we’re late Hange!”

Armin? That was Armin’s voice. But it wasn’t just Armin, tailing behind him were several other very familiar people.

Armin continued. “None of us wanted to go alone…”

Of course none of them would want to go alone, they were high school students and around them were a group of college students and a college professor.

A group of high school students among college students. Levi noted. He eyed the cocktail glass in front of him then. Was that what Hange was worried about? Levi found himself downing his cup a little quicker.

“Blame Connie here, He was the one wasting his time on extra batting practice until god knows what time,” Jean said as he followed behind Armin.

“Shut up Jean. At least Armin didn’t have to cover my subway fee.”

“I just didn’t have change on me.”

“Calm down you two, you’re eating here for free.” Historia went in between the two, and walked up to Hange who had stood up to guide them to their seats. “I could pay for my share.”

“No, no. I set aside money for this. I just wanted to express my thanks for the past few months and I wanted to meet you guys again. I hope we can keep in touch even after...” Hange pulled Historia to the side and Levi couldn’t make out the rest of their conversation.

So he focused elsewhere.

“Is this… unlimited?” It was Sasha who spoke up that time. It was great timing that the moment Sasha had come in, the first plates of meat were starting to be served on the table. Expectedly, she had been the first one to sit and she started cooking on her end.

“Yes it is,” Levi answered

“No way… Right after a long day of training? Is this heaven…” Sasha could have been tearing up at that moment. She had been too focused on the meat so Levi couldn’t confirm it for himself but the crack on her voice had been evidence enough.

Hange squeezed herself among the high school students who had settled on the nearby seats. “No no… This is a thank you for helping me with my thesis. I got some good data from you guys so really, thank you for taking the time to fill out those forms and dealing with all my messages and calls,” Hange said.

“You didn’t have to. You did more than enough for us.” Jean sat in front of Levi towards the edge of the table. “You helped me fix my dunking position.”

“Ah Jean, you mentioned last time, you’d be going abroad for college. Will you?”

Jean grinned. “Basketball isn’t too big of a sport here so I thought of going somewhere where I can go pro. I got a full ride in a pretty good university.”

“Jean! Congratulations!”  Their side of the table had exploded into other conversations.

They were all going to colleges, some abroad, some local. Levi had turned to their side, ready to passively listen for details. He was starting to get invested in their plans too.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Mikasa Ackerman. He instantly recognized her voice. “Ah sorry, I didn’t notice you there.” Levi said.

Mikasa remained standing. She stared at Levi expectantly and pointed to the seat next to him. “So, I can sit here?”

“Go ahead.” Levi scooched over on the bench. He eyed the filled cocktail glass next to Mikasa and pushed it casually towards himself. The last thing he wanted to do then was enable a minor.

Mikasa didn’t seem to notice the drink at leats.. “I talked to Elijah,” she said as she started placing meat in the grill... “He welcomed me during my first training.”

“Didn’t he move on from collegiate jumping already?”

“He had some free time. We had a long talk about prospects after college. I’m guessing coach put him up to it. Some extra persuasion points maybe?”

“You’re not gonna change your mind.”

“I don’t plan on changing my mind. I submitted my documents, signed the contract and I’ll probably be moving to the dorm next week so I’ll be nearer to the oval.” Mikasa paused to eat an egg roll.

“To think you were so against it before.”

Mikasa shrugged. “I guess it’s just easier now since Eren’s starting to prepare for entrance exams. I’m actually convinced he’s gonna be fine. He’s been taking review classes and he’s been studying a lot outside the classes too.”

“Entrance exams of Paradis University?”

“That’s his first choice,” Mikasa said. “Are you still staying in the dorm? Maybe we could go through drills together on off-days and you could give me a few pointers.”

“I’ll be in the dorm for a week more or so... I’m not exactly sure.”

“You’re gonna wait for Hange?”

Is it obvious? Levi avoided her gaze then, looking back at his empty plate. He soon realized he hadn’t even started cooking himself. So he dropped a few slabs of meat on the grill in front of him to feign at least some disconnect. “Maybe,” he answered.

“It would be nice to get a few pointers from you,” Mikasa said. “You really were one of the best jumpers out there.”

“I won’t be able to demonstrate a jump if that’s what you’re expecting. Besides Hange is much better at giving pointers. She’s a lot more observant than I am.”

“I’m sure there are things you can teach me that Hange can’t. I wanna improve my vertical jump. And maybe try some of the other events as well.”

“This is a complete 180 from you months ago..”

“I’m stuck training twice a day. I barely get to talk to Eren and Armin. So I ended up finding happiness in just jumping… And I thought to myself, might as well make some jumping goals for myself right?”

“So what’s your goal?”

“I wanna beat your high jump record. Even Elijah hasn’t beaten that yet,” Mikasa said.

“That’s some character development,” Levi mumbled.

Mikasa ignored it though or maybe she didn’t hear it. Levi never really figured out how loud he had said it. “.. And the only person who can teach me how to beat your record is you.”

***

Levi had eaten too little and had drank a little too much. But he would rather not have told anyone that.

So he had made the journey to the rooftop of the restaurant alone. There was a toilet conveniently by the staircase where he had ended up dry heaving on the bowl. A few dry heaves and a few sets of stairs later, he found himself sitting back on the metal wired fence that lined the roof.

Just long enough to get my bearings. Levi reassured himself as he leaned further in.

As time passed though, he managed to convince himself that maybe he could stay there long enough to just wait for everyone to leave. The last thing he would have wanted to do was puke on anyone on the way down.

He checked his clock. 9:30pm. Most college students wouldn’t even be leaving for the party yet at that time. His strict athlete schedule meant he never was a normal college student though.

He graduated college already anyway. With that realization, Levi was a little more merciful towards himself. So he rode out the high of his inebriation. He counted out the stars above him, treating it as some sort of countdown to sobriety.

It probably wouldn’t work. After the tenth star, his head was still pounding, the stars were starting to show signs of blending amongst one another and he could feel his face warming up.

He was starting to feel the beginnings of dry heaving—or possibly wet heaving—again. Unable to sit up any longer, he lay on his side.

He didn't know how long he had lain there, waiting for the pounding to subside before he heard footsteps. His first instinct had been to force himself to sit up. His mind though was quick to recognize those footsteps, that natural mix of fast, loud and even as they made their way up the stairs and somehow, he ended up relaxing instead on the cold concrete floor.

How many times had he searched for those footsteps before?

“Hey, you know you’re lucky we’re here on a weekday during off season. If this were a weekend, the rooftop probably would have been full and they would have kicked you out already.”

“How’s everyone?” Levi asked. He kept his question to two words but the amount of syllables he had to pronounce then only garbled it.

“They left already,” Hange slid back on the metal fence and leaned back on it. “It’s just you and me now.”

“Okay,” Levi said. He would have wanted to say more. The pounding headache only made something so simple as speaking, a game of Russian Roulette and he didn’t want to figure out which word had the bullet, and which word could have him throwing up on Hange then.

“It’s just you and me,” Hange repeated.

You said that already. Levi would have wanted to say. Instead he kept his own response at a hum of understanding. She should interpret that as a yes at least.

“You don’t wanna talk? Or are you just too drunk?”

Levi didn’t respond.

“Didn’t you just have two cups?”

Levi raised up three fingers. He wasn’t exactly sure how many at that point. But he was sure it felt like more than two.

“Okay, that still isn’t enough to be deadass drunk you know.” Hange seemed impatient. And maybe a little disappointed.

So Levi took one risk. “Just keep talking. I’m listening.” Maybe that had been enough to get some bile up his throat. It had done more than enough to aggravate the pounding in his head and he found himself leaning on Hange’s shoulder.

As she held him closer, her hand gently guided him deeper onto her shoulder. Within seconds, Levi found he had rested his head on her lap and was staring up at the sky above.

The night was clear, the stars were shining and Levi was counting the stars again, a little ticked that he had lost his pattern and his train of thought of a few minutes ago. He was starting from the top again and he could have sworn the stars were constantly moving. There was no way he would have been able to guess which line of stars he had already counted.

“Hey, talk to me.” Hange only made the ordeal of counting stars worse. Her big head of all things was obscuring the view of the patterns he was starting to form as he counted.

Get out, I’m counting stars. That’s what he would have wanted to say then.

Hange could have heard it. Or maybe she didn’t. She bent a little more forward, so unnaturally, Levi could have sworn she had done it out of spite. She stared at him with wide eyes, her lips curled up into a playful smile. “Let’s talk Levi, one more hour and they’re gonna close. Besides the view here is nice, it’s breezy and…”

“And?”

“You’re probably too drunk to move now. We’re gonna have to get a taxi home.”

“Later,” Levi mumbled as he turned on his side and buried his face into Hange’s polo which smelled unavoidably like beef. He would have complained then if his head wasn’t pounding and if it didn’t dawn on him then, he probably smelled worse.

“Okay, Wanna talk about my work?”

“Thesis?”

“That… and, the binder I gave you, the one with the stories.”

“What about it?” There was a lot to talk about. But it wasn’t like there was much Levi could have contributed then but one to two syllable answers.

“What did you think?”

“Good.”

Hange pouted. “No, not about the quality. How did it make you feel?”

“Good.”

“Okay, how did Commander Hange’s death make you feel?” Hange had taken pains to pronounce the word death a little more clearly than everything else. Enough for Levi to almost think throwing up on her would be a good idea.

So he took another risk. “If you had so much more to say, why didn’t you say it?” Levi asked. His voice would naturally slur so he willed himself to enunciate every syllable even if it could make him look like an idiot in the process.

“That’s what Commander Hange should have been asking Levi,” Hange said.

“Captain Levi didn’t wanna let Commander Hange sacrifice herself. It was obvious.”

“No it wasn’t.” Hange shook her head, quickly enough to get even Levi dizzy. “You wrote something before, right? Your descriptions of everything were incredibly vivid, like I remembered the views, the appearance of the titans, the way you weaved words together but you know half the time, I couldn’t even be sure of what Captain Levi was thinking.”

“That’s how it felt reading your work. Squad leader Hange, Commander Hange… all they described were titans.”

“But Commander Hange explicitly said she wanted to live with Captain Levi. It was obvious too,” Hange said.

And for a second, maybe they were engaged in some mental sparring, a game of tug of war. Levi was still a little too incapacitated, he couldn’t take the initiative.

So Hange spoke up, loud and clear. “I thought being with each other, doing all that was enough of a love letter. Did they need words? A mad declaration of love?”

“Maybe, no one can be too sure unless somebody says something right?”

“Hange was the commander. Levi was the captain. With the war going on, I don’t think they could have left their post right. They couldn’t be too selfish. I think the commander was planning to wait until retirement to say it.”

“Retirement never came.”

“We’re both retired now,” Hange said. “I’m done with this whole academic stint. You’re done with your whole athletic stint. We have the time to make it work for Commander Hange and for Captain Levi right?”

“Are you saying we’re Captain Levi and Commander Hange?”

“My dreams tell me yes.”

“Dreams huh? That’s pretty objective.”

“Hey, I think I did enough research on this to make a theory about it. It was part of my thesis.”

“And you do realize you’ve never told me what your thesis was about?”

“Sorry about that…”

“So you knew? I always thought I was an asshole for not asking.”

“You asked a few times, not directly, but I think maybe you wanted to go in that direction,” Hange said. “And I admit, I ended up digressing every time.”

“Why?”

“I guess I wasn’t too comfortable telling you yet. I was writing my thesis side by side with that story and ever since I got serious about it, after a few dreams, after that night in the hospital, I wanted the memories to be as raw as possible, untainted by whatever story Captain Levi told me before. It was Commander Hange’s story, not Captain Levi’s. So I guess that’s why I wanted to avoid discussion on it.”

“Thesis is done. The book is done. You can talk about it now.”

“You're gonna get bored. So I’ll just read out the title.”

Hange twisted towards her side, jostling Levi in the process and Levi had to bite his lip not to aggravate the dull headache then. He heard the sound of a zipper and the sound of books pushed against one another.

After what felt like a lot more than a few seconds, it stopped. Hange opened the book, she turned on the flashlight of her phone.

The glare was sudden and for a good few seconds the glare of the light could have been right on him. Maybe that was what had made it particularly painful for Levi then.

He buried his face further into Hange’s shirt and let out a taut curse.

“Sorry,” Hange whispered, seeming distracted. After flipping through the pages for a few seconds longer, she read it out loud. “Nature and Nurture as Determinants of Athletic Potential, A Case Study on High Performing Athletes… Okay you know,  maybe I was a little biased towards ‘nature,’’ she added cheekily.

“Why nature?”

“Dreams… Past life. What if… You’re Captain Levi and I’m Commander Hange Zoe. Right? We have the evidence. Captain Levi was humanity’s strongest and he was really good with fighting in the air... Commander Hange Zoe liked strategy and research... And the fact that we had the same dreams?” Hange trailed off.

Levi was in no state to respond.

So Hange continued. “You wrote a lot Levi and maybe you’ll write it again. But I can swear, from what I remember about your works, and what I remember from mine, They’re the same story. And Kuchel had something similar right? What if past lives are real?”

“I don’t think you’re wrong..”

Hange pulled another book from her bag then.

Under the dim starry night, Levi made out the thin binder, the one he had read that afternoon. She started to flip through the pages, much faster as if she memorized the exact page and maybe the exact position where the paragraph was.

“Maybe we should just live here together, right Levi?” Hange read out loud.

If we keep running and hiding, what will that get us… I know you’re not able to stay out of the action. Those words echoed clearly in Levi’s mind then. Captain Levi was still alive inside him and he was whispering.

Clear enough to convince Levi. Maybe past lives are real. Levi thought to himself. He was in another life then, circumstances were different so he changed the script a bit, a script fit for soon-to-be graduates Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman.

“Where to, Hange Zoe? What’s the game plan?” Levi asked.

“What’s the game plan of an academic washout…” Hange asked. “Well first things first, thank my parents for their grad gift, you know, the money to pay for the all you can eat beef… I’ll probably get a full time job, save up money then decide if I wanna go to med school again but at this point, I might just be better off pursuing a research track.”

“Didn’t Commander Hange wanna study plants?”

“She did,” Hange said. “And you know maybe she’ll get the chance now. Didn’t Captain Levi wanna own a tea shop?”

“I think that’s a viable career option for an athletic washout. The Olympics and the national team are out of my plate anyway.”

“So what? Teashop and research?”

“Teashop and research.”

“Well first things first, we’re gonna have to save right? My parents and I have been reconciling our differences lately already but I don’t wanna borrow too much money so our best option would be to get a place outside the city? You think we’d be able to afford that?”

Levi forced a slight nod. “Maybe a place with lots of green. You’d probably enjoy the trees and you’ll find lots to study during your days off. The commute to work is gonna be a bitch though.”

“We’ll find a job nearby or we’ll make it work. Just long enough to figure things out.”

Figure things out… The conversation died then. But maybe it did because Hange had started to do a little more research then, he saw in the glare in her glasses, the natural green over the white background.

Was she researching houses? Levi asked silently. It wasn’t worth asking anyway. They had only a few weeks before their contract ends and they’d be forced to vacate the dorms. Maybe it was a good idea to search much earlier.

So Levi endured the bright glare of the screen and searched for the beauty in the green glare on the white screen on Hange’s glasses then, and maybe he found it underneath in her eyes that seemed to be smiling.

If eyes could smile… No, they were definitely smiling.

“I’m sorry, we’re gonna have to ask you to leave. The restaurant is closing soon.”

Just like that, the moment was broken.

“We’re going down. Just give us a few minutes to fix our stuff.”

“Let’s go, Levi?”

“I would've wanted to stay here a little longer. It feels like a dream. I feel like Captain Levi here.”

“Because you are Captain Levi,” Hange said as she started to stuff the books back into her bag.

“Alright, Commander Hange.”

Hange chuckled. “You seem very disappointed.”

“Do I?” Levi couldn’t really tell the face he was making there. Hange’s face wasn’t the clearest either under the dark light. So he considered the possibility that she could be right. He might have been disappointed.

“Fine, I’ll give you something to dream about,” Hange said slyly. “You know, if Commander Hange Zoe wasn’t fighting a war, there was something else she probably would have done.”

“Wha--?” Before Levi could even complete the question, she had answered it herself.

She answered it with a quick peck. Or at least it should have been a quick peck.

With Levi’s mouth half open then, it morphed into something else in that split second, lasting a little longer. Their lips locked, their tongues touched and it had taken a few seconds longer to let go.

It probably could have taken a minute, an hour or even an eternity longer and Levi wouldn't have minded.

He continued to replay it in his head again and again as Hange helped him up, slung his one arm over hers. His surroundings changed, from the starry rooftop, the restaurant interior then the taxi on the way home.

And it ended with the sofa of the dorm lobby, the wooden ceiling and Hange leaning on him on the sofa.

He was still thinking about it then. In the silence, in the peace even with the changing surroundings, he had been on cloud nine the whole time.

He was convinced, Captain Levi wouldn't have minded that eternity either. Hell, he probably would have loved it.

***

There was a hiking trail near their house. Luckily it wasn’t too steep.

So Levi deemed himself well enough to brave it. It had been almost a year since his surgery, six months since the last tear and most days, as long as he wore his knee brace, his knee wouldn’t give out on him.

Unbuckling happened. Swelling happened. The dull aches never left. Levi had learned to just live with it, ride through the worst days.

It was as if his knee knew then that that day in particular was special. Or maybe Levi had chosen that day because his knee was feeling better. That day, Hange was notably freer and on the days leading up to autumn, it was only gonna getting colder and colder and he didn’t wanna have to wait another year to hike.

“Just tell me if anything hurts,” Hange said as they made the almost perilous journey up the hill.

The steeper it got, the harder it would be on his knees. He noted that, it would get worse particularly on the way down.

It was still far from the steep incline in the reserve Hange had brought him to more than a year ago.

There was a peak that overlooked the small town they had settled in. The incline, the climb albeit longer, was friendlier for his aching muscles and his bum knee.

Levi was counting his blessings. So through the worst of the dull aches, the worst of the pains as they climbed up, Levi gritted his teeth and clocked it as ‘bearable at least,’ not worth a complaint.

Hange probably could tell though. He didn’t figure out by her eyes since he kept walking behind her. She hadn’t been particularly pushy either. He had figured it out for himself when she started talking, and she never stopped.

“How’s Petra?”

“She’s working towards a PT Certificate.”

“How’s Isabel?”

“I heard she’s starting her third year of high school already?”

“And Farland?”

How do you even know them?

“I visited Erwin a lot in his office in the hospital you know. And I talked to them.”

But it hadn’t been just that. Hange had an emotional investment extending far beyond that. He slowed his pace, appreciating her seemingly interested voice then. With that, Levi was reminded, they were Commander Hange’s friends too.

So he continued to answer questions as they came. They were a good distraction from the specter of exhaustion that loomed over him.

And soon, he took the reins. "So how's Moblit?" It had only felt natural to ask too.

"He's in his first year of med school...How's Mikasa?"

"Her first college competition is next month.”

Conversations shifted quickly from topic to topic, person to person before dying somewhere at the peak when they attributed the death of such to speechlessness at the view before him or just utter exhaustion.

Levi knew it was neither of it and he became sure of it as Hange guided him to the bench that overlooked the rolling hills behind them.

She kept one hand over his knee. "Your knee did a good job not swelling."

"Even if it does, I won’t regret it. I wanted to do this for a while."

"Is this because you couldn't join me up the peak last year?"

"Probably," Levi said. He turned to her. "You didn’t get to the top then right?"

“No, I didn’t. I went back down as quickly as I could when I heard you scream my name.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what came over me. But Levi knew, so he kept that last part to himself. “You know, maybe I am doing this for you. You still wanna fly right?"

"Yeah, I do. Even if I remember everything then, after writing everything out… Sure I know how it ends for Commander Hange Zoe but... I still wanna fly. Maybe because I just wanna enjoy the freedom that comes with it.”

"Then I guess we made a good choice." Levi grabbed his backpack from behind him and unzipped it. "I wanted to give this to you. And I thought you might enjoy reading it in a place with lots of sky."

He had binded it the same way and he had titled it similarly.

It looked like Hange knew what it was. "Levi… is this…" Her wide eyes looked far from confused.

"After reading your work, I started dreaming about Captain Levi again so I rewrote the story I made a year ago. It's not a perfect copy but I think I remembered enough to maybe get you immersed again in his thoughts."

Hange didn't reply but Levi didn't mind.

In a way, she had responded, through whispers, murmurs and the grin on her face as she looked through the file. "To Commander Hange? Yours truly, Captain Levi?" Hange asked, a little louder and clearer than her murmurs. She wanted to be listened to.

"Are you laughing? That's the same thing you wrote at the top in your own file,” Levi said. “I guess you can say, it's Captain Levi's love letter to Commander Hange."

“A love letter huh? All I’m reading here are long drawn out descriptions of humanity’s strongest soldier fighting titans…” Hange chuckled. “And maybe some mentions of Commander Hange Zoe.”

“Captain Levi was with Commander Hange a lot right?” It was a shoddy reply. Still, an inkling of pride had Levi clinging on to that comment.

"Do you notice that neither of us actually wrote something introspective. It’s like they never could tell what the other was thinking. Captain Levi was too obsessed with fighting, Commander Hange was too obsessed with Titans."

"Those were how my dreams were."

"That's how they were for me too."

"But if you look over there, towards the last page, you'd find it. I wrote 'dedicate your heart' right? Captain Levi didn't want you to leave"

"I remember that and if you looked towards the end of my work you'd see I wrote... Commander Hange wanted to live with you."

Levi had a copy of it on his phone so he opened up, did a quick search and highlighted the text.

Maybe we should just live here together, right Levi?

For a second they sat in silence. Levi was too busy finding a reason for the tens of thousands of words worth of exposition all for one sentence. Maybe Hange was doing similarly.

Hange spoke up once again, only confirming it for herself. "Commander Hange and Captain Levi really took each other for granted huh?”

"They had a war to fight. They couldn't be too intimate could they?"

“So instead of just explicitly saying I love you through a love letter, they decide to send each other memories of a past life and we’re left to decode it for ourselves?”

“Captain Levi was never really the type to say he loves someone. And I’m guessing Commander Hange wasn’t the type either.”

“Or maybe... They were too scared to think about it to admit it was love, but somehow the reader just knows.” Hange suggested. She turned to Levi then, eyeing his phone.” It wasn’t just in the ‘live together’ part right? I’m sure you felt it in the letter? With every mention of Captain Levi… Toward the end, he never left her side and she never his side too right?”

Levi nodded slowly, gripping his phone a little tighter. “I felt it and every time I reread it, it only got stronger." And how many times had he reread it since she first gave it to him months ago?

“You know Levi, even since last year, the first time I read it, I felt it for myself and I really thought they would have kissed. And maybe if Commander Hange died they would have.” Hange cocked her head to one side. “So none of us needed reflection or introspection huh? I guess the descriptions on titans and technology made some great padding to the love letter.”

“Don’t you think it just made everything more complicated? For us?”

“Maybe it did. But I like to think this long drawn out puzzle just makes everything deeper, worth remembering. Think about it, just mentioning someone again and again, just quietly assuming that someone would be there by your side forever, not thinking too much of it but just casually thinking ‘I wouldn’t mind if they were there forever.’ And when the prospect of losing them comes up, that refusal to let go...the regrets that follow... I think those run deeper than any flowery declaration of love." Hange waved the binder in front of him. "I like this. It’s better than any love letter I could have gotten.”

“Two idiots just writing stories about their tragic past lives and exchanging it," Levi mumbled that first part to himself. He turned to Hange. "I enjoyed the process of writing these ‘love letters’," Levi said. "Did you?"

Hange nodded. “It wasn’t all happiness for sure but overall, I’m enjoying the writing process and I'm enjoying where the dreams brought me. It’s not where I expected to be a year ago but hey, who says life should be following the path we set for it,” she said. She took a deep breath. “And I should be saying the same to you. I’m not the Olympics. I’m not the national track and field team but you don’t mind right? Being stuck with me? Writing love letters like that?”

“Hey, instead of going to medical school, you’re here living with me in some small house near some hiking trail. We’re both on nine to five jobs saving up money until god knows when. It’s a far cry from what our teammates and blockmates are doing.”

“But you know if I didn’t drop the other theses, I don’t think I would have written this much about you.”

“And if I didn’t get injured, I wouldn’t have written. I’d probably be training with the national team now.”

And we wouldn’t be here. Somehow, Levi knew she was thinking about it too. From his peripherals, he saw, Hange had leaned back on the bench and had let her head fall back. She was staring at the sky above her.

He followed suit.

There was something about the sky at the top of the hill. It was a light yet mesmerizing blue that endlessly stretched above him. There were no buildings, no trees, or no highlands framing such a view. The sky looked free.

And for the first time in months, Levi felt like he was flying again.

But he didn’t want to fly alone. Levi dropped one hand along that very small gap between them.

It looked like Hange had taken that as a sign to reciprocate.

Levi looked to his hand, cradled against hers and up at her face to see that she still wasn’t looking down. In fact she held her head back further, propped her glasses on her forehead, and continued to stare at the blue sky above.

The blue sky reflected on Hange’s hazel eyes and it manifested in streams of color Levi couldn’t have even imagined as ever been producible by blue and brown. He wanted to catch her gaze then.

So he spoke up. “It wasn’t easy to accept it at first but I’m happy where we are. I’m not regretting anything and you know, there’s something liberating about failing---” Levi shook his head almost instantly as if what he had just said dawned on him then. “Actually wait, I think I phrased it wrong. This probably sounds weird.”

Hange continued to stare at the sky. “No, I think I get it,” she said. “Failing is embarrassing, it fucking hurts and for a while it feels like life stops. But when you fail enough times, failure starts to feel like a friend. And when you fail a few more times, you stop chasing and that’s the liberation you’re talking about right? There’s something liberating about accepting failure as just something that happens and just riding through that downward spiral before picking yourself up again." Hange held the booklet over her and reopened it. “I’m happy where I am now too, post-downward spiral.”

Levi could only watch and listen as she whispered unintelligible sentences to herself, grinning at the pages. He wondered which scenes she was reading through then.

“Well, it’s time for both of us to regroup then. We can't just keep feeling sorry for ourselves right?” Hange added as she stood up. “I have my research. You have your tea shop to work on. We better start hiking now or I don’t think we’ll make it back before sun down.”

“I would have wanted to enjoy this view a little longer.”

“Then we schedule another hike. We endure the uphill battle, we enjoy the peak then we deal with the downward spiral. That’s how it’s always been anyway.” She stuffed the booklet on her backpack and pulled him up from the bench.

“Yeah, we’re both used to it anyway,” Levi joked. He felt Hange’s hand behind him as he looked down at the decline. Only looking at it then did it dawn on him, hiking backwards, the downward spiral which followed the euphoria at the peak could be almost comparable to hell for his knees.

“Hey, I’ll go first. If you feel like you’re losing your balance, just grip my shoulder harder. Besides we can look for a gentler slope on the way down. We just have to get past this one.”

“We won’t be able to get down if we don’t deal with this huh?”

“We won’t,” Hange said. “I know it’s bad for your knees… but if you walk at an angle, it will reduce pressure. I’ll cover for you.” She clutched his hand, went ahead and guided his hand towards her shoulder.

Levi took it as a sign to grip..

“Just relax," Hange said.

It was easier said than done. Levi waited for his legs to start screaming then. The dull aches were ubiquitous, the buckling and unbuckling of his knees were a discomfort he had learned to just ride through and he was sure, he wouldn’t be hiking for another few months after that.

Even before the slope had gradually morphed into something gentler, Hange had started talking again as if she knew once again that it could ease them the whole ordeal of hiking downwards.

“Remember that teashop, the one just a ten minute walk away from our apartment, you wanna check it out?” Hange asked.

There was only one teashop near their place and Levi was quick to recognize it. “I’ve been going there everyday after work.”

“Without me?”

“Where do you think I buy the teabags and the coffee beans that never seem to run out?" Levi asked. He had taken great care to say the word 'coffee' in particular. It was Hange who went through bags of them too quickly that it was almost impossible to not frequent the cafe.

“Fine, I won’t complain. Tell me about it then, any regulars? Anything notable?”

“There are two kids who live nearby and they hang out there a lot. A brunette and a blond. Falco and Gabi.” Those names had been easy to remember. Yet as he imagined those two kids in the cafe, as he recalled their minimal interactions, he started to wonder if they ever really did introduce themselves.

“Those are familiar names," Hange commented.

“And there’s a pilot who hangs out there but mostly on weekends. His name is Onya--”

“Onyakopon?”

“So you’ve met them before?”

“No, just seems familiar.”

“So what, are you gonna tell me you’ve dreamed of them?”

“Maybe I did.”

Somehow, that had taken a weight of his shoulders then and it had started to become easier to admit on his end. “To be honest, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dream of them too.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

[weaverofthreads]

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.  

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.  

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read. 

Content of this ‘essay’: 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview  

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters  

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas  

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.  

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised. 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.  

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.  

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.  

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).  

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).  

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.  

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.  

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).  

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery. 

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.  

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.  

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points  

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?  

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters  

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.  

Speaking of characters… 

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:  

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits. 

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.  

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).  

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.  

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.  

Sub Plot Ideas  

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations  

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.  

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.  

Additions and Notes:  

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.  

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you. 

NaNoWriMo plan:  

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics. 

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.  

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!  

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.  

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.  

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.  

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.  

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.  

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).  

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

#writing #writeblr #writing process #how to write a novel #novel writing #nanowrimo #national novel writing month #writing a book #writing advice #author #authors on tumblr #how to structure a book #long post

[yutahoes]

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Twelve)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝.𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning:  Fluff, Mentions of Sex, Teasing, Car, Blowjob, Semi-Public

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

12. Maybe

It's a big day for (Y/N), her endless sleepless nights in the office will be judged for final review today and it scares the hell out of her. What if she's still not good enough? Does she keep doing this or just find another job? Maybe she should just get married, someone rich who can help her out of this debt. Like Yuta. And she shook her head at the thought. Suddenly, she missed him. Why isn't he calling? Is he busy at work? Or even dropping by at work, he knows where it is anyway. "(Y/N)," Johnny called which made her breath hard as she entered his office, the four men looking at her with a serious expression. "You have to work hard..." Does this mean that she's rejected? "And make this work for more chapters." he continued that made Jungwoo smile. Wait, what?

The confused look on her face made Jaehyun laugh. "You did it, congratulations!" And he hugged her, gliding his hands on her butt that made her quickly pull out of him. Such a fucker. "And I got you a sponsor so your manhwa will be released this weekend." A sponsor? Jaehyun got her a sponsor? It's probably Yuta, did he tell him about this? "And don't worry, it's Lee Taeyong, not Yuta," he claimed that made her curious, who is Lee Taeyong? And why would he sponsor her like this? Instead of worrying over these things, she decided to bask in the glory of it. Additional to the news was the first high paying paycheck that she got and thought of something to do.

"You wanted to surprise Yuta?" Jaehyun asked in surprise when she went to his office that Friday. "You're asking me to go to his office?" And she nodded at that, making him laugh. "I'm actually banned from his office since he had a new secretary." And (Y/N) nodded as if understanding everything. Jaehyun is a real fucker. "But if you're so desperate, I'll ask Taeyong to accompany you." The girl only nodded. Well, this is like hitting two birds with one stone. She can have a chance to go out with Yuta and meet Taeyong. 

-- Her initial image of a bald man with a pot belly was immediately discarded in mind when Jaehyun introduced (Y/N) to a guy near his age, looking like a real model while leaning on his cherry red Maserati. "You look better when conscious." he teased which made the girl look at the two friends in confusion. "You might want to stay away from this guy if you're going to be Nakamoto's girl," he claimed while pointing at the annoyed Jaehyun. Oh, she thought, they might really be friends especially when her boss just left her to him. "So to Yuta's workplace?" he asked opening the passenger door for her.

The ride to Yuta's place is rather long and quiet. Somehow, she can't think of any topic to ask Taeyong. What should they talk about? "Jaehyun gave me your manuscript. I'm not a fan of illustrations but I enjoyed reading your work." he started while safely gliding through the highway. "Aren't you going to ask why I sponsored you?" he asked and she just looked at him in wonder. Is he psychic? "I wanted to help you and Yuta. You know that guy is head over heels for you so I really want to be a bridge between you two," he explained that made her surprised. Why? Is this his way to being a great friend for Yuta? What he asked next had made her so nervous at this supposed surprise, 'Does Yuta have a chance with you?' She was thankful that the company building was reached when the question was popped and he just smiled, saying that she doesn't have to think about it too much.

--

(Y/N) was amazed at how large scale the office building is, twenty floors and Yuta's sit on the top. Isn't he scared when looking at his window? She was also amazed at how Taeyong can casually walk in the building with the workers greeting him. Once on the twentieth floor, a guy welcomed him and lightly glanced at the girl. "Paris girl," Taeyong claimed and the other guy looked surprised. Does he know what happened to Paris as well? Does everyone know? What about their set up? Do they even know about it? "Is Yuta inside?"

The guy with blue hair shook his head. "He's in a meeting right now then he has lunch free." (Y/N) nodded, maybe they can go for lunch instead. "Does he know you're here?" he asked the girl completely forgetting about Taeyong. She only shook her head as an answer. Of course, he's a busy man. Why did she want to surprise him in the first place? "Then I suggest waiting for him inside." And Taeyong smiled as he opened the door to the CEO's office.

She decided to hide under his desk, maybe she can surprise him. It wasn't even an hour when she heard Yuta's voice, asking Taeyong why he's in the building. "Nothing much. Are you free?" he asked and he heard the other guy laugh. "I have a lunch meeting," he answered and she heard the door opened. Footsteps can be heard then stopped, "Doyoung, can you close all the blinds?" she heard him say and heard the blinds close, he door closed soon after then a click of the lock can be heard.

The office was really dark by now and she wondered what is he doing with the darkness of the room. "What are you doing here?" Yuta asked, crouched down to the side of the table to see her. How did he find her here? He held his hand to help her stand up. "I saw your shoes when I get inside." he gestured at the rubber shoes she was wearing that made her hiss. "And your perfume." Unconsciously, she sniffed herself. What perfume? She's not wearing any. "And you're not answering my question."

The girl shook her head as if relieving some nerve and he chuckled while sitting on his chair. "Well, I just got my paycheck and I want to treat you for lunch. But since you have plans already so I'll just treat Taeyong instead..." she claimed while heading out the door that made him hold her hand to stop her. "When did you and Taeyong start hanging out?"  he asked with an eyebrow raised. He pressed the button of the intercom and came Doyoung's voice, "Cancel my afternoon schedule and tell Taeyong to leave before we get out." She only giggled. Yuta pulled her closer, holding her waist. "I missed you," he mumbled while sniffing her hair. "God, I miss your scent."

She giggled. So that was the perfume he was talking about. "Why didn't you call me?" she asked and he stared at her in surprise. "You know where I live and work." Yuta smiled. "I don't really want to push my luck." The girl only had to smile at him, making him grin. "So lunch? Where are you taking me?"

Instead of answering, the girl held his hand and dragged him outside his office. Both Doyoung and Taeyong were staring at their linked hands when they went out that made the other guy smile like a lovesick teenage girl. "Can I borrow Yuta for a while?" she asked and his assistant nodded. "I'll bring him back by two pm," she promised before walking outside.

Two pm? But it's almost just two hours. Are they really just having lunch? But then, he's in no position to complain about it. Having her for two hours like this should be enough for him. Even if he misses her so much. Much to his surprise, she hired a cab to a sushi house. "You must really miss Japanese food and Ten said that this is the most authentic Japanese restaurant around." Yuta smiled at the consideration. "I wanted to try Japanese food for a while."

"Well, you can have a Japanese meal if you don't get me back to the office early," he claimed but she just rolled her eyes as they enter inside the shop. The waitress greeted them in Japanese and Yuta answered her that baffled the said girl, maybe they're just asked to say that to customers. He ordered a private room that made her revolt but he claimed that he can't eat outside and wanted some privacy. She looked at him, eyes squinting. "I don't do public things, (Y/N). Besides I'm hungry so I wouldn't have the energy to what you're thinking," he claimed, smiling shamelessly.

The two were brought to a room by the end of the hall, there was a small table in the middle and two cushions on each side. The walls were adorned by Japanese paintings that made the girl admire them. Japanese culture is really diverse. "This is cool," she announced as she touched one painting of a mountain. "Is this a real mountain from Japan?" The guy only hummed as an answer then hugged the girl from behind, kissing her neck, making her giggle.

"Do you want to go to Japan?" he asked that made her look at him. Is he serious? "Just say the word and I can bring you to Japan, even to Paris wherever you like." She glanced at him, weighing on the proposal. That seems really great, traveling out of the country with just Yuta. Paris will surely happen once again. "We can run away if you want to."

That made her smile. Runaway? If he asked that question years ago, she might have said yes. But now, everything is according to plan so running away is not even in her mind now. She was thankful when the waitress entered and they both settled on their cushioned seats with the menu at hand. Everything looks mouthwatering, but she isn't sure what to order so she let Yuta order instead. "I hope I don't get disappointed." he wished when the waitress went outside with their orders. She lightly sighed, will this be worth the bill she'll pay?

The sushi was a feast on her eyes the platter looking so mouthwatering that she feared for the cost of the food. Fuck, she should have thought about this carefully. But seeing how Yuta enjoyed the meal, even claiming that it tasted like the ones he tried in Japan while growing up, she realized that it's worth every penny. He taught her how to eat sushi yet all (Y/N) could think of is how dominant Yuta is in forcing her to eat. "You can have the last one," he claimed, putting the sushi on her plate that made her nod. It tasted good, the best one from all the sushi she ate and she thanked Yuta for giving it to her.

He excused himself to go to the bathroom and she waited patiently, checking her account to make sure that she had enough money to pay. When a waitress entered the private room, she asked for the tab but she mentioned that it was already taken care of. Annoyed, she went out of the shop then glared at him who was speaking on the phone. He put down his phone when he saw her approaching. “Why did you pay for the meal?” But he grinned and she badly wanted to punch his pretty face.

“I enjoyed the food. You didn’t eat much.” he reasoned out and she rolled her eyes at him. “Can you stop that? You’re making things to me.” She bit her lip to prevent herself from giggling but the guy just held her chin. “You’re really testing my patience, (Y/N).” But she only stared at him with a haughty expression that made him laugh. “I’m sleepy, can you just buy me a coffee?”

But the girl had another thing in her mind when she asked him to stay inside the car and drive back to the office. “My coffee,” he whined that made her smile, where’s the dominating guy from earlier? The guy who got turned on in the middle of the streets. Glancing at the arousal in his pants, he’s still not far from that guy and hopefully, he can stay hard until they reach the office parking lot.

--

It was quiet. Too quiet. That was what Yuta thought when he parked the car in his office building’s basement. (Y/N) was tying her hair in a ponytail that made him curious. Why are they back this early in the office? And he thought he can have some quality time with her. “You said your sleepy, right?” she asked as her hand trailed on his thigh. “I can wake you up better than coffee.” A sly smirk appeared on her lips and he chuckled in delight. This girl never fails to surprise him.

(Y/N) unzipped his pants as he glanced around the deserted parking lot. How wild can this girl get? Blowing him in his car in the middle of the day. She licked the tip of his cock and he closed his eyes at the sensation. This is really amazing, Yuta thought. The feeling of hotness and wetness that her tongue had provided is sensational. She kept on licking from that base to the tip and back down that made him mumble a ‘fuck’ in Japanese.

Her hand fondled his balls, her mouth already devouring his cock. She loved how he muttered his name when he’s halfway across his cock and when she swallowed him down her throat, she loved the feeling of his hand on her hair. (Y/N) bobbed her head up and down and strings of ‘God’, ‘Fuck’, ‘Baby’ and moans can be heard. Her tongue swirled on his slit and pumped the part that can’t enter her mouth. Yuta bit his lips, even tasting copper as he prevented himself from too much moaning at the pleasure.

His eyes shot open as he saw a shift of light, someone just went out of the elevator and is on the way to where they are. Glancing at the source of light, he can make out two silhouettes. Doyoung and Taeyong. And they knew his car is already here. “(Y/N),” Yuta called, feeling himself near orgasm at the thought of his friends knowing that someone is giving him head in his car. His hold on her hair got tighter as he jerked his hip upward, gagging her with his cock. He’s desperate for release now that Doyoung is approaching them.

The secretary is already knocking on his car window when his cum shot inside her mouth. She kept sucking as her life depended on it, eager to get all that he released. Yuta was breathing hard when (Y/N) lifted her head from their position earlier, making Doyoung wide-eyed. The CEO opened his car window while zipping his pants up. “You’re late, the investors are…”

“Tell them to give me twenty minutes more.” Doyoung just sighed then shook his head, heading back to the elevator. Taeyong was just laughing, shaking his head as he went to his own car. “I’ll tell Taeyong to drive you back to the publishing house.” Yuta turned to the girl who was fixing her lipstick.

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’ll take the cab. I saved money from lunch and a cup of coffee anyway.” Yuta just laughed at that. “Besides, I’m going home today.”

“Will you be alright?” he asked in pure worry and she just nodded her head. “You have to call me tonight, promise me.” The girl bit her lip at that. “I’ll call you tomorrow when I go to work.” He nodded, that’s still alright. “Now, go to your meeting. Tell Doyoung I’m sorry for making you late.”

But Yuta smiled. “I hope you’ll always make me late.” (Y/N) only grinned at that, forcing Yuta to just go to his meeting. Why is saying goodbye to him this awkward? Should she kiss him? No, they’re not in a relationship. So she just waved goodbye at him, watching at how lovely his smile is as the elevator came to a close.

“I’ll drive you back,” Taeyong said but she shook her head, reasoning that she wanted to take a cab home instead. “We didn’t finish our talk.” (Y/N) breathed heavily. “The answer is no, Taeyong. I don’t think I’ll be good enough for him, he deserves a lot more than what I can offer.”

The guy only sighed as an answer. Well, she’s wrong about that.  

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 11 / Chapter 13

#smut #yutasmut #yutanakamotosmut #nctsmut #yutanakamoto #yuta #yuta smut #yuta nakamoto smut

[angst-in-space]

january ‘22 writing progress

words written: 32.1k

most words written in a day: 3832

least words written in a day: 202

current yearly total: 32.1k

projects worked on:

- FINISHED A FIRST DRAFT OF MY NOVEL!! - sylvix dreamscape fic ch 6 - klapollo zine piece

works published in january:

none 💃

january goals: - cut my novel word count down to under 140k - maybe start writing the Actual Ending of my novel (the current ending is…kind of a placeholder) - turn in final umz piece - work on sylvix dreamscape fic ch 6 if i have time february goals: - finish first round of word-cutting on my novel - start writing the Actual End of my novel - edit and post ch 6 of sylvix dreamscape fic - work on ch 7 of sylvix dreamscape fic - maybe start editing renga fic if i have time??

notes: so january was.... a rollercoaster lol. i spent the first half of the month frantically trying to finish a draft of my novel so i could apply to a certain writing mentorship and well.....on the bright side i finished a draft-ish (i say “-ish” because like, there’s still a lot i wanted to add at the end but my book was getting freakishly long so i decided to hold off for the time being lmao). on the not so bright side, i did not end up getting a mentorship and that kinda crushed me so 🥲i mean it’s probably for the best bc my manuscript is a huge fucking mess right now but ANYWAY. i’m trying to at least give myself some credit because that’s the first book i’ve finished writing in like uhhh 6 years?? so YAAAYYY 🎉 ....now just to edit the shit out of it forever *sobs violently*

speaking of which, i at least started editing although i’ve been sticking to pretty surface-level edits for the time being. i don’t even wanna talk about how long my initial draft was but uhhh i’ve spent a few weeks just going through and cutting out unnecessary scenes and generally cutting down the word count and reached my goal of getting it down to 140k before the end of january. *wheezes* i’d still like to cut out like more than 40k of it LMAO but um we shall see. at the very least i want to finish my initial round of edits by end of february... i think i still have like 100 more pages to go but i will make an attempt. 😅

once i get through that initial round of word/scene-chopping i’m hoping to move on to writing the Real Ending since it has a weird cliffhangery-ambiguous ending right now and i have a much better ending i’ve planned from the very beginning SO, crossing my fingers i can at least start on that this month!! 

outside of my original writing... i FINALLY finished chapter 6 of the sylvix dreamscape fic. (yes it took me like three months i’m so sorry lol.) i’ve started editing it so i’m hoping to pass that on to betas soon-ish and hopefully will be able to publish that before the end of the month. and i’m hoping to make a dent in ch 7 this month as well, so uhh i’m praying it will not take me so long between chapters this time 😭

i have various other projects i want to finish but....first i’m really trying to finish/edit/post stuff in my backlog that i’ve been neglecting for months SOOO i think i’m gonna try to start editing my renga fic this month as well. i finished a draft of it many months ago but i have just not had time to edit it *cries* but i think i may finally have some now so.... SOON. I SWEAR 😤

oh yeah i also entered yet another book contest thingie yesterday on a whim, so uhhh perhaps i’ll update on that next month if i hear anything back! 👀

#brigidposts #writing updates #monthly writing progress 2022 #fanfic #original fic #text #long post

[ambersky0319]

An intrulogical fic where Logan overhears Roman and Deceit trying to figure out how to get Thomas to see how great Remus can be, and he sneaks into Remus' room to grab one of his stories. He fixes the mistakes and just subtly places it in Thomas' room. It may take awhile but he reads it; it's rather morbid and strange so he thinks it's Joan's, but he likes it despite Patton's dislike on it.... Then Logan spills the beans. Metaphorically. 💚💙 Idk I feel like I could describe this better...

I really, really hope you enjoy reading this just as much fun as I had writing it-

Warnings: Morally-gray/somewhat unsympathetic Patton (your interpretation really, implied he just doesn’t like anything Remus does); Descriptions of violence, torture; mentions of blood, death, and human experiments (but none of these are concerning any of the sides or Thomas); please lmk if I need to add anything else!

Masterpost 

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Logan paced his room, mind racing as he processed everything he had overheard. He hadn't even meant to overhear, he just did because Roman is loud as hell when he gets passionate about a subject.

To finally get Thomas to see Remus's true worth... It'd take a lot more than just getting Remus to disguise himself, or take one of his ideas and pass it off as Roman's. Patton would surely find some way to discourage both of those, and it'd be difficult to convince Thomas at all to listen to Remus after it. Maybe Deceit could momentarily silence Patton, so he wouldn't be able to interject?

Logan shook his head. That wouldn't work either. Thomas still wouldn't be convinced, he'd just be reminded of Remus's introduction and no matter how great Remus's idea, he still would probably reject it. And that alone wouldn't get Thomas to appreciate Remus at all, even if it did work.

"Hey Moonstone!" Logan jumped as Remus opened his door, grinning wide at his boyfriend. Logan returned the smile with a soft one of his own, opening his arms. Remus immediately clung to Logan, holding onto him tightly.

Logan ran his fingers through Remus's hair. "Something I can help you with?" He asked. Normally Remus only barged into Logan's room if he was feeling down. Remus shook his head, pressing a kiss to Logan's jaw.

"Just kind of want to cuddle, if you're free?" Remus hummed, pulling away slightly to look at Logan. Logan smiled just a bit more, leaning forward and closing the small gap between them. Remus melted into Logan, his own arms moving up and around Logan's neck.

They didn't pull apart as Logan guided them to the bed, and they only broke apart when they had to get comfortable. Remus laughed lightly, snuggling close to Logan and resting his head on Logan's chest. Remus loved hearing and feeling Logan's heart beat, it reminded him that this was real.

"Hey Cephy?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Remus laughed again, pressing closer to Logan. "I love you too," he said as his eyes closed. Remus was asleep soon after that.

Logan waited until Remus had fallen into a deep sleep to move. It took about an hour, which he didn't mind. He loved just holding Remus, running his fingers through his hair or tracing circles on Remus's back. Remus always looked so peaceful when sleeping, and Logan was happy Remus trusted him enough to be so vulnerable.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Remus's head, Logan wormed his way out of Remus's arms. Remus curled into the pillows instead, still looking content and Logan relaxed, knowing he hadn't disturbed the side. After pulling a blanket over Remus, Logan finally left his room.

He wandered down the hall to Remus's, and he opened the door. He could hear Patton downstairs singing as he made dinner, and guessed the others were either asleep in their own rooms or just doing their own activities. Once Remus's door closed, all the sound seemed to vanish.

Remus's room was a wreck, but an organized wreck. Remus had a system, despite Roman complaining that it was just an excuse to leave his room messy. Logan believed Remus, though, because if you knew where to look for things then you could easily find it.

He made his way to Remus's desk, careful to avoid stepping on any papers or crafts Remus had made. If it was on the floor, it was an idea Remus would return to soon.

Once at the desk, Logan began to look for a certain story Remus had read to him a few months ago. As Remus had slept, an idea had popped into Logan's mind, although it was one of those long-term ideas. It could work, despite how much gore was in the story and the emotional trauma the characters are put through... Logan thought Thomas might actually enjoy reading it.

Getting the story and making it look like a published book were the easy parts, though. The hardest part would be making it appear in the real world, and make sure Thomas could actually see all the pages. It takes a lot of energy to do something such as keep a book materialized for who knows how long. But Logan was willing to do it. Of course, he'd be sure to approach Deceit and Roman later to be sure they didn't do anything stupid as Logan prepared.

Logan smiled triumphantly once he found the story, and he went back to his room. Logan didn't need to edit the story too much, just the occasional spelling error that slipped past the first few edits. He reread it as Remus slept under his covers. It was one of Remus's favorite stories, one he was really proud of, and to Logan's luck had made a few copies. This meant Remus possibly wouldn't notice the missing manuscript, and even if he did, Logan could explain. He just didn't want to get Remus's hopes up so early on, and also didn't want him accidentally telling Thomas before he actually read the story.

He spent most of Remus's nap creating the actual book to put on Thomas's shelf, texting Roman for help with the cover after briefly explaining his idea (he also didn't want Roman to accidentally reveal everything too early- the only secrets Roman was really good at keeping were his secret insecurities). Roman was ecstatic to help and apparently set to work right after Logan briefly explained the plot of the story.

Logan placed the almost-finished book in one of his own desk drawers, and climbed into bed again with Remus. Remus shifted, making a sound that Logan assumed was out of content, and clung to Logan once again. Logan wrapped his arms around Remus, pulling him closer before letting his own eyes drift shut. Soon, Logan had also slipped into a deep slumber, only being woken up three hours later for dinner.

-

The book cover Roman had shown him was gorgeous, in Logan's mind. And he was surprised Roman had done it so willingly in the first place, since it was so far from Roman's comfort zone. A hospital with blood dripping from the windows, the main character looking as innocent as Remus portrayed him to be. And as a much smaller detail, corpses lining the base of the hospital in awkward positions, as though they had jumped from the stories above.

Logan combined the cover and the book about a few days later, and rose up in Thomas's apartment. Thomas was in his room, getting ready for the day, which meant Logan could go unnoticed since Thomas was still finding the energy to leave the warmth of his bed.

He appeared in the living room and walked over to the small bookshelf Thomas had. With any luck, Logan could persuade Thomas sometime soon to pick up reading in his spare time.

Logan slipped the book onto the shelf, making sure it didn't look too out of place. He could feel the energy it took out of him to keep it there, keep it just really existing in this world. He just hoped it would stay that way, so when Thomas read it, he could actually see the damn story.

He sunk out without being caught, rising up in his room but quickly going to the commons when he heard Patton call for breakfast.

-

It took Thomas almost an entire month to finally notice the book, pulling it off his shelf as he was cleaning. He didn't recognize the title, not the author. Ignoring the heavy amount of blood on the cover, Thomas turned the book in his hands, reading over the synopsis. He tilted his head. It seemed... Interesting.

Maybe Joan had accidentally put it there, and had just forgotten they'd left his book. That happened on numerous occasions before. Normally Thomas would just leave the book alone and give it back to Joan once they visited again, but something about this one caught his interest.

He settled down on the couch, knowing Patton would probably be very uncomfortable with this book. But that didn't phase Thomas as much as he thought it would. And so, he opened the book to the first chapter, getting more comfortable.

It didn't take long for Thomas to get invested in the story. It was being told from the point of view of a child, Thomas assumed the boy on the cover, and where the child grew up. The hospital, located in an abandoned town. His parents did experiments on the town's residents, all of whom had been checked into the hospital years ago. No one was allowed to leave, and anyone who died in the experiments were just dropped out the windows.

The child wasn't as innocent as he looked, though. Not how he sounded, and Thomas soon realized that when he 'played' with the 'patients' to supposedly cheer them up, the child was only torturing them more. Dress up was wrapping chains around necks and crushing windpipes, playing pirates meant he stabbed someone's eye out and gave them an eye patch made from a large screw or chopping off their hand to give them a hook, and cooking meant slicing various parts of the victim off and adding the parts to a 'soup'.

The thing was they couldn't go outside, though. And the boy ends up outside halfway through the story.

Thomas couldn't believe how much he actually enjoyed reading the book, just waiting to see what the boy did next after finally getting out of the hospital, how his parents would react. The town turned out to not be completely abandoned, and the remaining residents upon seeing the boy... It was just a bunch of interesting interactions.

He spent the entire night reading, even reading a bit into the morning until he closed the book with wide eyes. His stomach growled, and Thomas realized he hadn't eaten dinner the day before. Half-awake, he went to make himself some toast as he pondered the events of the book.

Thomas went to sleep on the couch soon after breakfast, exhaustion finally overpowering the rush that came with reading a new book. And he woke up early in the evening when Patton was trying to get hip up, wanting to have a talk about Thomas's recent choice.

He rubbed his eyes, noticing the other sides as well. Thomas quickly sprung to his feet, stretching his arms as he walked to take his place at the center of the room.

"Pat, you wanted to talk?" Thomas asked, turning to face his moral side. Patton looked very unhappy, which was to be expected. Remus seemed to be bouncing in his peripheral, a nervous grin on his face.

"Before that, can we talk about the book?" Remus asked, promoting Thomas to fully look at him. Thomas tilted his head.

"What about it?"

"Did you like it?" Remus seemed almost hopeful, clasping his hands together and pulling at his fingers anxiously. He would recognize the story Thomas had been reading from anywhere, since when Thomas was reading the words from the pages played throughout the mindscape like an intercom and Remus knew the story by heart.

Thomas smiled, because of course Remus would be excited about that kind of gruesome story. "I did, actually. It had compelling characters, an interesting plot and setting, and also the descriptions... They were horrifying, but in a pleasant way? Like, the kind of feeling you'd get when reading whump fanfiction or something."

Remus's shoulders relaxed and he bounced a bit faster, laughing to himself at Thomas's response. "Brilliant!" Was all he said as he tried and failed to calm himself down. Thomas turned back to Patton and crossed his arms, seeing the look of utter disapproval on Patton's face, missing Logan's smile of relief.

"I'm going to assume you hated it, though?"

"Of course I did! It was awful!" Patton threw his arms in the air. "It was about murder! And torture! How could you like a story like that, Thomas?!"

Thomas shrugged. "It's fictional, Patton. I don't condone anything that happened in it. You would know if I did."

"Just because it's fictional doesn't make it right!"

"That was the point of the story though, right? That everything the main character was doing and thinking was wrong, despite the environment he grew up in and how he wouldn't know right from wrong?" Roman asked, leaning against the wall as he watched Remus finally calm down his excitement. Remus grinned at him.

"But he liked reading it. What does that say about Thomas?!"

"Many people read things they don't like, Patton. Thomas's friends like playing games involving horror and murderers, but they're not murderers themselves, are they?"

"But Thomas had never liked reading these things in the first place!"

"You mean you've never, right?" Deceit interjected, leaning against the banister. "Thomas has liked some morbid books in the past though, because of some of our own influences. Like the original material the Disney movies were all based off."

Patton looked at a loss for words, and turned to look at Virgil. "Surely you didn't like it, Virge. It was really gruesome, right, and isn't it worrying that Thomas likes it?"

Virgil shrugged. "I didn't mind it. I gotta agree, it was definitely gruesome, but it was still a good story." Virgil flashed a smile at Remus. "I could also see someone making a wicked movie out of it."

Remus's eyes widened at the idea, his smile only growing.

"So, overall Thomas, you wouldn't be opposed to reading stories similar to that one?" Logan asked, folding one arm across his chest as he pushed up his glasses with his other hand.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it, no."

"And what about possibly creating skits with darker themes like it, maybe for a side channel of sorts?"

Thomas's eyes lit up. "Oooh, that'd definitely be an interesting channel! And I could reach a wider audience, right?" He deflated a little. "But I doubt I could make anything like that story and actually pull it off."

"I don't see why not. After all, your own mind created the story."

Thomas frowned. "What?"

"The story, it was Remus's. You can create things as good as that story, if you merely gave Remus a chance to show you what he can do."

Thomas's eyes widened at that, and he turned back to Remus. "That's why you were so excited?!"

Remus nodded, still feeling giddy as he rocked on his heels. It took a moment for him to find his words. "I'm really really happy you liked that one- it was one of the first in a series and it's my favorite and I just-" Remus cut himself off, flapping his hands and trying to laugh off the nerves creeping back up now that Thomas knew. "You don't have to listen to Logan, Thomas, but the fact that you even considered the idea is good enough for me!"

"You wrote that." Thomas stared at his duke with wide eyes. "Really?"

Remus nodded again, and Thomas ran a hand through his already messy hair. He bit his lip, glancing briefly at the obviously unhappy Patton.

Eh, screw it, Thomas thought. "Could I see some more of your ideas, then, or do you need time to brainstorm?"

Remus could've fainted if he didn't suddenly have a job to do.

-

After they had all sunk out, Thomas deciding he needed more sleep, Remus tackled Logan to the floor. Tears of pure joy were streaming down Remus's cheeks as he buried his face in Logan's shoulder, laughing almost hysterically.

Logan caught his breath, wrapping his arm around Remus tightly and holding him closer. "You alright?" Logan asked once Remus had stopped laughing as loudly. The others had vacated to their own rooms, leaving just them two on the common room floor. Remus leaned up to press a kiss to Logan's lips, holding onto the logical side for dear life.

"Thank you, Lolo, thank you," he whispered against Logan's lips. Logan held Remus closer, moving to wipe away Remus's tears. He smiled softly at Remus, caressing his cheek lightly.

"For you, my love, anything."

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#long post #intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #Intrulogical fluff #remus sanders #logan sanders #Thomas sanders #character thomas #character!thomas #sanders sides #ts sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #ts remus #ts logan #ts thomas #unsympathetic patton #morally-gray patton #(unsure really but gonna tag both just in case) #tw violence #tw death #tw murder #tw torture #(those are all technically described so gonna again tag just in case) #ambersky ask #amberskywrites #prompt #ask